Ancient History
by Becky and Amanda
Summary: The past never dies; it just takes a nice long nap, and when it wakes up, boy is it cranky. (Beyond-era AU hopefully of interest to TAS fans; originally posted 6/00 in Batman section.)
1. Notes

A Word From the Authors

**Becky says:**

If writing a story is really like giving birth, we were in labor for fifty-seven hours before finally shooting this baby out into the world. Was it worth it? Yeah, probably. I really love our Divergent Timeline here and I wanted the story to be told. But I'm digressing. What do you need to know to read this story? 1) We like Dick. (Ha, ha, ha.) 2) We like Terry, but, well, we DON'T like BB's glorification of him. We tried to make him more realistic--ie a kid with a lot of spunk, earning his place in this twisted little family, but not Super Wonderful Genius Ohmigodisn'thesocute!!! Boy. 3) This story takes place after the first season finale--which is when we started writing it. After that, all bets are off. 4) Yes we really do have REASONS for the characters acting like they are. 5) Yes, there will be more. When? Dude, don't ask. I'll just start crying again. 

**Amanda says:**

This story was written - or, painfully wrenched from our psyches, whatever - from August 1999 through June 2000. Because of that timing, we decided to include only the 'canon' that had been revealed up through the first season of Batman Beyond. Which means that, yes, dammit, to our chagrin, that little revelation from 'A Touch of Curare' had to go in there, too. (Amanda says: Puppy love, my ass! *ahem*) We kept some stuff from season 2 - like Max - because we liked it. Our inspirations for writing this were threefold: 1)"Gee, this is cool and all, but, uh, where's Dick?" 2)"Heeeeey... I just had a freaky idea. What if...?" 3)"Puppy love, MY ASS!!!" Okay, that third one didn't inspire this story so much, but I hold grudges. Anyway, we don't like to call this an 'Alternate Universe' because that always seems to connote some radically different set of circumstances, like the South won the Civil War, or hamsters rule the earth, or something like that. We decided to call this a 'divergent timeline' because that's what our timeline did. And then Dini had to go and finally give us the retcon, but by the time 'Return of the Joker' was on its way, we were in too deep, man. So our timeline also 'diverges' in the past. And you know what? Props to Dini, dude, but we like our retcon better. Cuz, you know... Dick. Anyway, call it what you will, an AU, a 'What if?', a hell of a lot of work, here it is, and it's managed to assert its presence in our lives so thoroughly that we have sequels planned. The timeline marches on. ...Eventually. We swear. As always, comments will be given due consideration. Questions will be answered to the best of our ability, unless they are stupid. Flames will be taken personally and crush our fragile spirits. Lavish praise will be printed out, laminated, and placed under our pillows at night. 


	2. Return

**Ancient History: Return**

The mag-lev train whispered along, gliding above the rail. The last time he'd ridden the el in this city the ride hadn't been nearly as smooth. The lights strobing by outside the windows were different, too. In fact, since he'd arrived back in town he'd found very little the same. No surprise there, though. It had been a long time. 

The car was dimly lit, and he occupied it alone. Still, the collar of his long black coat was upturned to obscure his face, and while he appeared to lean casually against a pole, his entire body was tense. 

The vid screen that took up the front wall of the car was showing the ten o'clock news. A vacuous looking female anchor was smiling brightly, emptily, and saying, "In our People Scene tonight, philanthropist Bruce Wayne received the Gotham Civic Association's Humanitarian Award...." 

He snorted, one eyebrow raised in an appreciation of irony. If the Gotham Civic Association only knew. 

"The reclusive Mr. Wayne was unable to attend the ceremony, but the award was accepted for him by Civic Association chairperson Bunny Vreeland." After a brief soundbite from Ms. Vreeland about all Bruce Wayne had done to benefit the city, the female anchor handed off the script to a vacuous looking male one. 

"...Thank you, Gina. And now, to review our top story, there was another appearance by the vigilante known as the Batman today...." 

He leaned forward, almost without realizing it, unwillingly transfixed by the images flowing by on the screen. This _was_ a surprise. Although, reconsidering, he didn't know why it should be. 

"...Our Action News cameras were there to capture this footage of Batman as he apprehended three men allegedly robbing the First Mercantile Bank of Gotham...." 

A flash of a figure in black, moving so swiftly it was hardly identifiable as more than a blur. Then the camera switched angles, and clearly caught the action as the costumed man swooped--no, he _flew_--down upon the luckless criminals, dodging gunfire. It was all over in seconds. The program cut to footage of squad cars pulling up in front of the bank. 

"...Police arrived shortly at the scene." The anchor was back on the screen, the graphic floating above his left shoulder a familiar, yet unfamiliar, stylized bat-shaped logo. "This is the third time this month that Batman has arrived at a crime-in-progress before the Gotham PD. When reached for comment Police Commissioner Gordon had this to say:" 

He knitted his brows. Gordon? That was impossible.... 

A stern faced, gray-haired woman appeared on the screen, identified as "Barbara Gordon, Commissioner of Police." He caught his breath. She looked directly into the camera and pronounced, "No comment." Her voice was... _old_. 

He leaned back on the pole and turned his head to look out the window. The newscasters blathered on in the background. Sports, weather, stock prices. Eventually the train slowed to a stop. His stop. He placed his hands in his pockets and faced the doors. As they slid open he caught himself glancing back at the vid screen one more time. Someone bumped into him, and he started. 

"Excuse me," the kid said. He was maybe seventeen, dark hair, brown jacket, carrying a backpack. 

"No problem." 

The two young men paid little attention to each other as one entered and the other exited the train. As the doors slid closed, the one on the outside walked away without looking back. The boy inside the car watched the lean, dark figure on the platform for a moment as the train pulled away, then shrugged. He sat down, rubbed a sore shoulder, and hoped his mother wouldn't be too mad when he got home. 

* * *

Terry opened the door to the apartment as quietly as he could. If he was lucky, his mom would already be in bed, and - 

"Do you know what time it is?" 

Busted. 

His mother stood up to face him, her arms folded across her chest. 

"I, uh... I forgot my watch?" 

"It's almost eleven, Terry," she informed him. "On a school night. You could have called. Or did you forget your phone, too?" 

"I'm sorry, Mom, it won't happen again." The promise sounded hollow even to him. 

"That's what you said the last time." 

"I know. But -" 

"You mean it this time?" She looked skeptical. "I'm not going to ground you, but I would appreciate a little consideration. Like not sneaking in." 

"I wasn't sneaking in." Which was true. If he'd really wanted to sneak in she wouldn't even know he was here. "I didn't want to wake you up." 

She uncrossed her arms, folded the blanket she'd been using, and tossed it over the back of the couch. "I saw on the news that that _Batman_ was out there again tonight," she said, her mouth wrinkling in distaste. "You are being careful on the streets, aren't you?" 

He nodded sincerely. "Absolutely, Mom." 

Her expression softened as she looked at him. "I worry, Terry. I can't help it. Parents worry." Sighing wearily, she told him, "Go on to your room. It's past both our bedtimes." 

"Sure, Mom." 

Sitting on his bed, he thought about his mother. In a way he wished she would yell. At least that way he wouldn't feel so guilty. But it was like she was getting used to it. He guessed he should think that was a good thing, but something in him wasn't sure. He didn't want to think about this right now. Right now all he wanted was to get some sleep. 

His head had barely hit the pillow when he heard his phone. _The Bat-phone_, he thought wryly. He answered it, saying, "I thought old men were supposed to go to bed early." 

Wayne didn't miss a beat. "I thought teenagers were supposed to stay up all night." 

Terry sighed and sat up, pulling his backpack out from under his bed. "Okay, what's up?" 

"The computer's detected a break-in at the Wayne-Powers corporate archives building." 

"I'm on my way." 

* * *

The glow of the streetlight spilled into the alley adjoining the archives, but stopped just short of illuminating the door. This gave the would-be intruder some cover, but not enough. Batman perched on the ledge of the building next door, camouflaged, his night vision enabled. 

"Got him," he whispered, more to himself than to Wayne, who had insisted on observing this curiously unremarkable encounter from his position in the Batcave.. "Now for a closer look." 

He used the camera feature in his mask to zoom in. The figure was crouched in front of the door, working on the lock. While his face was hidden in the shadows, Batman could still see the general outline of his profile. He could also see the long tail of hair hanging down the tresspasser's back, safely tied away from his face. The man paused, then cocked his head in satisfaction as the door began to swing open. 

"Time to introduce myself." The batarang sliced through the air, glinting briefly as its arc intersected with the streetlight's beam. Batman timed his jump to land him with a soft thud behind the burglar the moment the batarang embedded itself in the wall inches from his - 

_Uh oh._

The guy hadn't even flinched. His left hand had merely flickered up and snatched the batarang out of the air. No, it was more like the batarang had flown right into his hand. Batman prepared himself to dodge if it was hurled back at him. Over his audio link he heard Wayne caution, "Careful, McGinnis." The apprehension in the old man's voice set Batman on edge almost as much as the intruder's unexpected competency. He readied himself for a fight. 

The man stood, and turned slowly toward Batman, keeping his face slightly downcast. His eyes were hidden behind a mask, and on the chest of his black costume was emblazoned a symbol in red, stylized flames in the image of a bird with wings upraised. He held up the batarang, turned it in his fingers as if testing its weight and form. Very deliberately he raised his head, and regarded his challenger with cool intensity. The corner of his mouth quirked up briefly, and he deadpanned with barely concealed disdain, "Let me guess. Batman, right?" 

Batman was about to respond when Wayne shouted into his link, "Don't let him leave!" 

Startled by the strained vehemence of the command, he turned his head to the side for no more than a second. "You know this guy?" 

"Don't question me! Just keep him there!" 

When he turned back, the interloper was gone. 

* * *

In the Batcave, Bruce Wayne rewound the footage of the night's encounter and replayed it once again. He punched up the audio even more, enhancing the clarity as much as he could. 

_"Let me guess. Batman, right?"_

The phrase echoed off the walls of the cavern; from some far corner the cave's other, winged inhabitants squeaked in protest. 

Terry grimaced a little as he heard the smirking voice, and cranked up to full volume, at that. "A little loud, don't you think? Maybe you should look into a hearing aid." He strode up beside Mr. Wayne, pulling off his mask. _Open with a joke, maybe he won't chew you out._

"My hearing's as good as your reflexes," Wayne said harshly, freezing the video. "That was very sloppy, McGinnis." 

Terry held a breath for a moment, biting back the automatic defensive response. "Granted," he admitted with difficulty. "But I wasn't expecting him to just disappear." 

Wayne swiveled his chair to face his young protege. "You have to be prepared for the unexpected. Even if something--or someone--distracts you." 

Was that an apology? _Nah, couldn't be._ He'd been expecting the full lecture. The old man seemed distracted himself, and it wasn't something Terry was used to. 

"We'll both know better next time," Wayne said brusquely, and turned back toward the screen. 

Terry nodded. He _would_ know better. "I'm not going to let this guy get the jump on me again." His tone of voice shifted from determination to reluctant admiration. "Catching the batarang was a nice trick, though." 

"Yes," Wayne said cryptically. How he managed to make 'yes' sound cryptic, Terry had no clue, but there it was. 

"So " he ventured, recalling how intently Wayne had been studying the footage, "_Do_ you know this guy?" 

"No." 

Terry forced back a sigh. Why did that sound the same as 'yes'? "I knew things were too quiet lately. All we need is another costume in town. Why can't this city have normal burglars?" 

"Nothing about this city is normal." 

"Yeah, I'm getting that more and more every night," Terry muttered. "Well, whoever he is, he obviously didn't get what he came for. What's in that building, anyway?" 

"The history of Wayne-Powers, and before that Wayne Enterprises. The mainframe in that building houses computer backups for every division of the company going back decades, and there's a paper document library as well." 

"So we're thinking industrial espionage?" 

"It's a possibility. I'll know more after I've done some research." 

"Right," Terry nodded. "See if we can't put a name to the smirk." 

Wayne ignored the remark. He got up from his seat and asked Terry, "Do you have that batarang on you? The one he caught?" 

"Yeah. He was nice enough to leave it behind." It had been laid at his feet like a gift, actually. He had the definite feeling this guy was mocking him, and he didn't like it. "He'll show up again, and I'll be ready for him," he vowed as he handed Bruce the batarang. 

"Yes," Wayne agreed, "we will be." 

* * *

After Terry had left, Bruce examined the batarang under a magnifier, and frowned. Just as he'd suspected, he located a tiny electronic device, almost hidden in one of the hinges. A tracker. With tweezers he carefully removed the delicate mechanism, deactivated it, and placed it on a microscope slide to get a better look. Any other time he would have done this with Terry present, made it a lesson, but tonight it would only have been a distraction. 

The design was strikingly similar to the ones Batman now used, as if the two were cousins descended from the same technological ancestor. Similar, in ways that only he could have discerned, to his own original design of so many years ago. But that meant nothing, he told himself as he moved from the lab table to the computer. It was a relatively simple device. There was nothing in this coincidence that should have contributed to the growing spark of... what? 

Anxiety, perhaps, although that wasn't an accurate name for it. Unease might be a better term. Unease that had been steadily growing ever since Terry's-- Batman's--aborted encounter with the mysterious newcomer. _Hope_, something whispered in the back of his mind, but he didn't allow himself to hear it. 

Normally, he wouldn't have bothered to observe a run of the mill attempted burglary, but because this one involved Wayne-Powers he found himself interested. At the first obscured view of the man he had felt the first twinge, but nothing in his conscious mind acknowledged why. When the stranger caught the batarang something clicked into place, but there hadn't been time to think about it then. Then the face. Even under the mask he recognized it. How could he not? It was like he'd been shifted out of sync with time, and the one word that thrummed in his head was 'impossible.' 

Then the voice, and it was as if everything suddenly snapped into place with piercing clarity. His rational mind fell away, all doubts were set aside to make room for what he knew, what he simply _knew_. He'd shouted at Terry, and in retrospect it certainly hadn't been the most prudent thing to do. He was willing to absorb his share of the responsibility for the unpleasantly open ended nature of the incident. 

Now, after time had passed, that crystal sharpness was gone, and the doubts, the calculations, the speculations came thundering back. His rational mind was present with full authority, and he set about to do what he had always done when confronted with such a challenge. He would deduce the truth. 

A few hours into his research, he had gotten some answers, which inevitably only led to more questions, which would in turn find answers of their own. He had begun with the insignia on the burglar's costume, and now had a full dossier--or as full as could be expected, considering the man's fairly sketchy history. 

Through it all he tried to remain calm, objective, not to let his underlying emotions cloud his thoughts. But the picture that was being painted, the way the pieces fell together--dates, places, a few names--was disturbing. Disturbing in its... plausibility. Of the several theories he had begun with, the one he found himself returning to again and again was deeply unsettling. If it were true.... 

_If_, he reminded himself. There were other, less outrageous possibilities, and they were all far more likely. Still, his instincts told him differently. 

_Your instincts are getting old_, he chided himself. _He_ was getting old. No, he _was_ old. It was startling how often his mind needed to be reminded of that. His body never forgot, of course, and it was fully aware of it now. His bones ached. He recognized the need for sleep, but didn't know if he could quiet his brain long enough to fulfill that need. He didn't really want to. 

He fought it for a while longer, closing the file and calling up the footage from Batman's video feed again. He played it several times without the audio, scrutinizing every frame. Then, he cued it to the desired frame, switched on the audio track, and let it play. 

_"Let me guess. Batman, right?"_

Stop. Rewind. 

_"-Batman, right?"_

Rewind. 

_"-Batman-"_

Bruce jammed a finger onto the console, and the whole screen went dark. The silence of the cave was immense, and for an instant it felt filled with ghosts. Indeed, for a moment he felt the ghost of that earlier sensation, that dead certainty, brush his mind. _If it were true..._

To his chagrin, he found he was tired enough he needed his cane to climb the stairs. The 'tap, tap', and the slight shuffling of his own footsteps seemed to fill the cavernous space. He took one last glance back at the bank of costumes along the wall, his eyes focused on Nightwing's. He swallowed hard, attempting to stifle the unease, and whatever other emotions he was unwilling to name, and abruptly shut off the light. 

If it were true, it would change everything. 

* * *

Terry, fitted out in his Batman costume except for his face and head, stood back for a few seconds and observed Wayne at the computer. He didn't seem to be doing anything but staring at the images on the screen. Half the display was filled with a still captured from Terry's video feed of the night before; the other was a file photo he'd managed to pull up of their mysterious visitor. It was from a surveillance camera somewhere. Not the clearest shot, but identifiable. "Hey, that's him." 

Wayne nodded. "I traced the insignia. He calls himself the Phoenix." 

Terry snorted. "Oh, well that's not pretentious at all." Wayne didn't seem amused. "So, is that the best image we could get of him?" 

"Hmm?" He'd heard him. He was giving him a chance to rethink his phrasing. 

Taking the hint, Terry corrected, "So that's the best image we could get of him. I can work with that. What's he about?" 

"He works mostly out of Europe and Africa. I found references to him going back almost thirty years." 

"Thirty years? He couldn't have been around that long. He didn't seem that old. Closer to my age than... well, you know." 

"Mm hmm. There are also several incidences where he's supposedly died." 

"So..." Terry considered. "We could be talking different guys." He motioned to Wayne and then to himself. "You know? Different guys?" 

"It's a possibility." 

"Maybe a generational thing. Father to son or-" 

"Specific records only go back a decade or so," Wayne interrupted. "This," he said, pulling up an image of a nondescript building in an urban center to replace the still from last night, "is the Van Dekker Gallery in Johannesburg, home of one of the most valuable private collections in southern Africa. Eight years ago Phoenix was hired, for a considerable fee, to design and test its security system." He glanced sideways at Terry. 

"Let me guess..." 

Nodding, he confirmed, "Three months later it was robbed. No one was ever apprehended." 

"So he's a bad guy," Terry concluded. 

Wayne pulled up another image alongside the gallery, this one of a group of smiling, dark skinned children in hard hats standing in front of a construction site. "This is the village of Makembo in the Congo. Six years ago a local warlord controlled it and eight other villages in the region, diverting international relief funds meant for agriculture and health care into his own pockets. He hired Phoenix as a 'personal security consultant.' Six weeks later the warlord was deposed and imprisoned, and this school was built with funds from an anonymous donor." 

Terry furrowed his brow in confusion. "So he's a good guy?" Wayne didn't offer an answer. Sighing, Terry declared, "Man, I hate it when they're ambiguous. Good, evil, pick and side and go with it." 

The pictures of Phoenix appeared on the screen once again, and the old man stared at them intently. Terry was convinced something was going on, something more than he was being told. _What else is new?_ he thought resignedly. "He won't try for the corporate archives again tonight now that he knows Batman is on to him." 

"No," Wayne shook his head. "But there's someplace else, in the old warehouse district." Here his voice turned distinctly sardonic. "I moved some things there during the 'merger' with Powers." 

"Sneaky," Terry commented his approval. Pulling on his cowl, he asked, "You think he'll go there?" 

Bruce Wayne pressed a button on the console and the screen went dark, the only image visible in it now the reflection of Batman standing behind him. 

"That's where I would go." 

* * *

A soft glow emanated from the warehouse skylight as Batman crept along the roof. Wayne had been right; Phoenix had shown up just where he'd said he would. Moving over to the open section of the skylight Phoenix had obviously used, Batman peered down into the main room of the warehouse. 

Almost immediately he spotted Phoenix leaning over one of the computer terminals, completely focused on it. Batman couldn't read the display from his distance without zooming in, but it wasn't necessary to know Phoenix wasn't up to anything good. 

He dropped down through the open window and landed on the floor with an almost inaudible thud. Of course Phoenix, who seemed to have supernatural hearing, heard him. "Back for more?" 

"I don't think we've been properly introduced. Let me guess. Phoenix, right?" 

Phoenix raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Someone's been doing their homework." 

He let that pass. "Your little magic tricks won't help you this get away this time. I'm on to you. I've got more than one trick up my own sleeve." 

A half-smile threaded its way across Phoenix's face. "I'm going to let you in on something, kid. It doesn't mater how many bat-gadgets you throw at me, you can't win this one." 

"We'll see." 

Phoenix crossed his arms and frowned. "I'm sure you're very good at this, but it's all a giant waste of time. I'm not here to blow anything up, get any dirt on anyone, or generally harm anyone in any way. I'm actually here to do something good." 

Batman snorted. "Yeah, right." 

"You think I'm lying?" 

"Like you said, I've done my homework." 

Phoenix grinned suddenly. "Hey, I never said I was a saint." He took up his previous position at the computer console and the streams of data began flying across the screen again. "Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do." 

He didn't really want a fight, but Phoenix wasn't giving him a choice. Batman pulled out another batarang, readying his stance. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice." 

Phoenix laughed. "'We can do this the easy way or the hard way'? People actually still say that?" 

Batman gritted his teeth in annoyance. Didn't this guy take _anything_ seriously? "Have it your way then." He threw the batarang at Phoenix, then jumped high into the air, positioning himself to land a kick to Phoenix's head. Just as his foot was about to make contact, Phoenix slid out of the way and he overshot his target. Before he could land, Batman felt a powerful blow to his solar plexus that left him gasping for breath. 

Instincts took over and he rolled out of Phoenix's range. Not that it was necessary; Phoenix was just standing there, watching him. And smirking. 

"Trust me, kid, you don't want to do this." 

"Oh, I think maybe I do," Batman said as he stood up. 

"I don't want to have to hurt you." 

"Funny. I was just going to say the same thing," he said as he leapt backwards, used the wall as a springboard, and vaulted over Phoenix's head. He landed behind his opponent, sweeping a leg around to knock him off his feet. 

Or he would have if Phoenix hadn't stepped out of the way again. Without pause, Batman continued the assault with his fists. He aimed his blows first for Phoenix's midsection then worked his way up. 

Every one of his punches was blocked as though he was a rank amateur. Who the hell _was_ this guy? Batman continued to strike at him, trying to force Phoenix to back up if nothing else. He only wound up giving ground himself. 

He threw one final, frustrated punch before Phoenix finally lashed back, catching him across the temple. Batman staggered backwards, blinking back disorientation. 

"I told you, you don't want to do this," Phoenix said. "You can't beat me." 

"Maybe not," a new voice called from the shadows of the warehouse. "But there's not much chance you can stop _both_ of us." Terry's eyes widened as the large bat-exosuit stepped into the light. 

_What the hell is_ he _doing here?_ Terry thought. The last time Wayne had used the suit had been when Batman was fighting Inque and losing hopelessly. He wasn't doing _that_ badly this time. 

"What are you doing here?" Wayne demanded of their adversary. 

Even behind the mask, Batman could see Phoenix's eyes narrow dangerously. "Well. Isn't this a surprise," he said with deceptive mildness. "Two for the price of one. Don't I feel lucky." 

"You didn't answer my question," Wayne said. "What are you doing here?" 

"Beating the stuffing out of your protege here," Phoenix sneered. "Don't you even bother to train them properly anymore?" 

"He can hold his own." 

"Not from what I've seen," Phoenix shot back. "He couldn't even land a single hit. It was bad enough that you were putting children into lethal situations, are you _trying_ to kill them now?" 

Phoenix didn't wait for an answer. He jumped high into the air, landed on one of the beams near the ceiling, then seemed to fly out the skylight he'd come in. 

Batman readied himself to pursue and called over his shoulder at Wayne, "I'm going after him." 

Wayne stopped him short with a simple, "No." 

"What?" 

Wayne turned to leave without waiting to see if he'd follow. "You won't be able to catch him." 

* * *

Terry tapped the edge of his credit against the tabletop, the _click, click, click_ sound oddly comforting. He'd asked Commissioner Gordon to meet him during his lunch break and thought the nearby diner would be a good idea. 

The last time they'd met here, she had told him about how she'd stayed behind when Dick Grayson had left. And how she didn't hate Wayne. Hopefully she'd open up again since Wayne wasn't talking. 

It was obvious that he and Phoenix had some connection, but when Terry had asked, Wayne had refused to answer. He had eventually given up. When Wayne didn't want to talk about something, there was nothing Terry could say to change his mind. 

A cup of coffee already in her hand, Gordon slid into the booth across from Terry, startling him out of his thoughts. "Hello, Terry," she said coolly. 

He nodded slightly at her. "Commissioner." 

She took a sip of her coffee while Terry tried to think of how to start the conversation. When he found nothing, she asked, "Are you going to tell me why you asked me here or am I going to have to guess?" 

A quick glance down showed that he still held the credit, only now he was turning it over in his hand. He forced himself to lie it flat against the table, though his fingers still strayed to it almost of their own volition. He hoped she didn't notice. "Who's Phoenix?" Might as well go with the direct approach. 

Though her face remained inscrutable, he saw her hands tighten around her mug. "Shouldn't you be in school, Mr. McGinnis?" 

"Lunch period. Who's Phoenix?" 

Gordon's gaze drifted away from him towards the window and the view of Gotham it offered. "I don't have any idea who he is." 

She was lying, she had to be. There had been a flash of something in her eyes when he mentioned Phoenix's name. But why would she lie, keep that information from him? 

Terry sat back in the booth to contemplate the matter while Gordon slowly fingered the edge of her coffee mug. She didn't seem to be puzzling anything over in her mind. Her expression was... sad? It also hadn't been surprise when he'd mentioned the name Phoenix. Which meant she had to have at least some idea of who was behind the mask. But how? Up until last night, even Wayne hadn't seemed to know who... Wayne. 

"He told you, didn't he? About Phoenix." 

Gordon turned a sharp look on him and sipped her coffee before answering. "Yes." 

"Why? What do you have to do with Phoenix?" 

"With Phoenix?" She raised an eyebrow in a gesture reminiscent of one of Wayne's favorite expressions. "Not a thing." 

Terry sighed; obviously she wasn't going to make this easy for him. "He seemed to know an awful lot about the old days." He saw the bitter smile that crossed her face for a moment before she could hide it. "And he must be someone important to get the old man out of the cave." 

"Someone important..." she repeated softly. 

This could be his chance. "He said something. Something about 'putting children into lethal situations'." He let his tone of voice show what he thought of that. "_Do_ you know who he is?" 

She seemed to snap out of her reverie and leveled another sharp glance in his direction. "I'd never heard of him until today. And I don't want to hear about him ever again." 

"I just want to know what's going on here. You know what Mr. Wayne is like, he won't tell me anything. And this Phoenix guy could be dangerous. I barely know anything about him." 

She considered this for so long Terry was worried he'd lost her. Barbara Gordon could be pushed for information, but only so far. If he'd gone over the line... 

"I want you to understand something," she said slowly. "You're burning your bridges with this one, kid. I can't tell you everything, but I can point you in the right direction. However, you will never come to me with this again. Is that clear?" 

Not for the first time, he wondered exactly what it was that had made her want to run as far away from the whole situation as possible. "Yeah, I get it." 

He expected some story from Wayne's past, from when he had been Batman. Or maybe when she had been Batgirl. Something that would shed light on what was happening now. What she gave him was a name. And one he already knew, at that. "Robin." 

Terry blinked. "Robin?" 

Gordon picked up her purse and slid back out of the booth. "Coffee's on you this time, kid." 

"Which Robin?" 

She paused next to Terry's side of the booth, cocking her head. "Both." 

It wasn't much, and he had no idea how either Dick Grayson or Tim Drake was going to help him understand, but he trusted her. If she said that it would help him, it would. "One more thing." She frowned down at him, but didn't walk away. "I have to ask... Why are you helping me?" 

"Because as long as I've made sure the police enforce the law in Gotham... some things should be dealt with by family." Gordon pulled her jacket tighter around herself. "Don't make me regret my decision." 

* * *

Terry walked out of his last period class and found Dana waiting by the door. 

"Hi. Bio let out early, thank _God_. Do you mind if we stop at that new coffee place on the way home? I think I'm hooked on cappu...ccinos." The last word started off bright but the last few syllables just sort of fell out of her mouth. He winced. She could read him so well sometimes. 

"You can't walk home with me today, can you?" She didn't sound surprised. And only mildly disappointed. Her tone of voice was almost exactly like that of his mother two nights ago, and it made him feel just as uneasy. It was a disturbing trend that he really didn't have time to ponder right now. 

"I'm sorry," he said, and then launched into the explanation he had prepared. And this one was mostly true. "I've got some research to do." 

"Oh. I could wait, or stick around and help you if you want." The offer was halfhearted at best. 

"That's okay. I don't know how long I'll be. Besides, you'd be bored stiff." He grimaced dramatically and gave her the hard sell. "History." 

"Ooh, your favorite subject." 

"Tell me about it." 

"Well, at least you're studying," she teased him. 

"Hey, it's been known to happen," he returned lightly. They'd reached the computer lab adjacent to the library. 

She gave him a smile, but not one of her brilliant Dana smiles. It was more... concerned. "Hey, Terry, are you sure you're all right? You look really ragged today. How many times did you walk into that door, anyway?" she asked, reaching up to lightly touch the abrasion on his forehead. 

_Actually, it walked into me,_ he thought. _Repeatedly._ "I'm okay. Just tired, I guess." 

"Okay." And then, after a pause, "Guess I'll go then." 

"Yeah. See you tomorrow." 

"See you tomorrow." She turned to go, and he watched her for a while. When she was almost all the way down the hall he impulsively called to her, "Maybe I'll call you tonight." 

"Sure," she replied - as if she didn't quite believe it, he thought. "Have fun with history." 

He grimaced, genuinely this time. "I'm sure I will," he said dryly, although he doubted she could hear him by now. To himself he muttered, "_Ancient_ history." He turned and entered the lab and found Max there waiting for him, sitting on a table and swinging her legs. 

"Hey, I got your message. What's up?" 

He closed the door behind him, wished it had a lock, and said to her, "I need your help with something." 

Her eyes immediately brightened. "Yeah? What is it?" 

"Don't get too excited, Max. It's just a little research." 

"Oh." She frowned a little, feigning disappointment, and then broke into a sly grin. "It is... _work-related_, though?" 

"I also need you to not ask too many questions." 

She sighed. "Right. So what do you need from your humble servant, exactly?" 

"Can you set up a workstation where I can search old newspaper files, official records, that kind of stuff?" 

"Terry, I know you're not exactly Mr. Academia, but I have seen you hand in term papers. Always late, of course, but I know you know how to type something into a search engine -" 

"Without logging on to the network. In private. I can't do this in the library, it's too public, and at home there's Matt and my mom and-" 

"Gotcha. Privacy and anonymity." She started working at a terminal. "I can only give you about a half hour in here, by the way," she informed him, her voice slightly distracted as she concentrated on the screen. "Then the Statistics Club meeting starts." 

"Statistics Club?" Terry asked, as if he couldn't quite believe there was such a thing. 

"Hey, careful with the scoffing. I'm a member." 

"Not the president?" he gibed. 

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I have better things to do with my life than being president of the Statistics Club. I'm the treasurer." A few more keystrokes and she stood up, gestured to the workstation. "There you go." 

"Thanks." He sat down, shoved his backpack under the table, and looked up at Max. "Uh, Max?" 

"What? Oh, I get it. Time for me to scram, right? I suppose you want me to play watchdog, stand out in the hall and make sure no one comes in?" 

"Yeah, thanks." 

She nodded briskly and said "Woof," then left him to his work. 

When he heard the door click shut he turned to the computer, wondering where to begin. _Robin_, he thought. Commissioner Gordon had said to start with Robin, so he entered the time frame for his search and got underway. Unfortunately, his first search returned about a zillion results, most of what would have been of interest to him buried under bird watching articles and stories about people named Robin Something. He sighed, and muttered, "This is why my term papers are always late." 

In a few minutes he managed to refine his search, but there was still a mountain of material. Most of it was standard, the same kind of stuff that was reported about him all the time. Nothing revelatory, nothing new. He paid special attention to the dates, though, and managed to pin down the first appearance of Robin in a news account. There were regular mentions for a while, then a gap, and then they started up again. He opened new searches, one for 'Nightwing,' one for 'Grayson, Richard,' and a last for 'Drake, Timothy.' 

He was starting to see the timeline more clearly in his head. The death of Grayson's parents, his adoption by Bruce Wayne, then Robin showing up a few years later. Robin mentioned less when Grayson would have been in college, then dropping out of sight altogether until a new one had suddenly appeared, coincidentally around the same time of Bruce Wayne's legal guardianship of the Drake kid. Then Nightwing had arrived, although accounts of him were fewer and sketchier. Batgirl's named popped up in a lot of the articles, too, although he hadn't searched for her. No mystery there. 

On impulse he decided to cross-reference all the relevant names he could think of, and was rewarded by an article titled "City Council Honors Commissioner." It was just a fluff piece about James Gordon getting a plaque at some fancy dinner, but there was a photo accompanying it. 

"I'll be damned," he murmured. "One big happy family." It was somewhat surreal. In the foreground of the photo was the former police commissioner and his daughter. Barbara Gordon smiled broadly, one arm around her father. Terry could scarcely believe that vibrant young woman was the same person he'd talked to earlier that day. Then again, there was something in this image - something in the eyes, maybe - that seemed to bridge the two divergent pictures of her in his mind, those of present day top cop and long ago Batgirl. 

To the left, and slightly in the background, was none other than Bruce Wayne, young, and surrounded by women. And he was _smiling._ Kind of a phony smile, Terry thought, but still a smile. "This is going to give me brainsprain," he muttered, shaking his head. Also in the photo was a bored looking boy of about thirteen - that must be Drake - and a dark-haired man maybe five years older than himself that had to be Grayson. Grayson looked like he was trying not to look like he was looking at Barbara Gordon. 

All of this was interesting, but none of it shed much light on current events. He only had a few minutes left, so he went to the last few chronological entries. At Tim Drake's obituary, he stopped cold. _Jesus, he was just a kid._ It said something about an 'accident,' which Terry didn't buy for a second. Robin had disappeared, of course, and it looked like that was when Nightwing had split town as well. There was nothing else until a notice several years later that Dick Grayson, former ward of Bruce Wayne and only heir to the Wayne fortune, had been declared legally dead. 

Terry sighed and rubbed his eyes. So they were both dead. He hadn't known for sure, but it wasn't a big surprise. What the hell did any of this have to do with Phoenix? _Maybe I'm missing something,_ he thought. He sent both death notices to the printer along with some other material he wanted to go over one more time later before he shredded it, and decided to go back and reread some of the articles while he had time, hoping he'd stumble upon some clue that he'd previously missed. 

Partly because he was absorbed in his reading, and partly because his senses were dulled by plain old exhaustion, Terry was somewhat startled when from over his shoulder came Max's voice asking, "Who's 'Richard Grayson'?" 

Quickly getting over his surprise, he ignored the question. 

"Oh, I get it. This is the stuff I'm not supposed to ask about, right? No problem." Nevertheless, she grabbed the copy of the old newspaper photo as it came out of the printer. She raised her eyebrows and pronounced, impressed, "Whoever he is, he's cute." 

Terry wrinkled his brow, annoyed. "He's dead," he said flatly, and took the picture from her hand. 

"Shame," she said, a little wistfully. Then she shrugged. "Oh well." 

He sighed, trying to suppress his irritation. This Phoenix thing had _not_ been good for his mood. "Refresh my memory, Max. Weren't you supposed to be outside making sure no one came in here? Including you?" 

"Geez." She lowered her voice, and leaned closer to him to say, "Just because you're a superhero doesn't mean you get to be snippy, you know." 

"Sorry," he said, although from his experience he thought maybe it did. Well, after another few decades, maybe. 

"S'ok," she smiled. "You've practically got STRESS stamped on your forehead. Are you sure this isn't anything I can help with...?" 

He shook his head. "A hundred percent sure, Max. Trust me. You don't want to be in on this." _**I** don't even want to be in on this,_ he thought ruefully. _Whatever it is._

She seemed to accept this, albeit grudgingly. "All right. Anyway, I came to tell you you'll have to wrap it up now. Thirteen point five percent of Stats Club members get to meetings early." She smiled at him expectantly and was rewarded with a blank stare. "Statistics joke," she pointed out hopefully. 

"I know," he said. 

"Jokes are funny," she reminded him. "They make people laugh." 

He grinned. "Usually." 

She punched him on the arm. "Come on. I'm not going to let you abuse me anymore. You really ought to appreciate me more, you know that McGinnis?" 

Terry paused in the task of putting the printouts in the front pocket of his backpack and regarded her. "I do appreciate you, Max," he said sincerely. 

"Yeah, I know," she grinned. "Now get out of here." 

"Gladly." He turned to the computer and exited the file, barely pausing to glance at it a last time. "Oh, and can you...?" he pleaded. 

She nodded. "Erase your trail, I got it." 

"Thanks. Oh, and..." 

"No, I won't look." She held up her right hand. "I swear." 

"Thanks again. You're the best." 

"I know." Max sat down at the computer and set about covering the tracks of Terry's research, just in case, and he left the lab, passing one of the young statisticians on his way out. 

* * *

Terry shifted the pack on his shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable position for it. His entire body ached after last night's fight with Phoenix, and spending an entire day in school having to pretend nothing was wrong had only made things worse. 

He'd had several worse injuries since taking up the mantle of the Bat, but Phoenix hadn't really been trying to _hurt_ him, he knew that much for certain. Phoenix had been too quick, too on-target with his punches for Terry to have gotten off so easily. 

He still wasn't sure what to make of the latest costume to hit Gotham, but he decided to think about it later. Right now he just wanted to get home and _rest_. Letting the backpack slide off his shoulder, Terry practically dragged it on the ground alongside him. He lifted a hand to the cut above his eye, wincing a little when his fingers made contact. He should probably take care of that soon... 

"That looks like a nasty scrape," a voice called from a few feet behind him. Terry dropped his hand and whirled around to see a man about his age, with bright blue eyes, a familiar face, and long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, coming towards him. There was a smirk firmly in place on his face as he said, "You should have that looked at. What happened?" 

The last thing Terry wanted right now was to strike up a conversation with a stranger, even one he thought he should know. But brushing this guy off would only attract attention, and besides, if he played along he might figure out where he knew this guy from. "I hit my head on my locker door. It was a very smooth move." 

"Hit your head on your locker door? Sure you did." The man's smirk widened. "I'd think that by now you'd be able to come up with a better excuse than that." 

Terry didn't stop walking, giving the other man a wary look. "I don't know what you mean." 

"Of course not." The guy looked him up and down a couple of times, noting the tension in Terry's body. He put his hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. "At ease, kid. I come in peace. I need a favor. One costumed crimefighter to another." 

_What? Oh, damn._ This time Terry did come to an abrupt halt. "You! What do you want? And why are you out of costume?" 

Phoenix shrugged. "I didn't think you'd appreciate taking a chance on anyone seeing you being approached by a guy in a costume. People in Gotham may not be that bright, but they're not stupid, either. 

"Figuring out who you were was easy, kid. He should have taught you better than that. I guess he's slipping in his old age." 

"What are you talking about?" 

Phoenix titled his head a few degrees to the right. "Maybe he didn't completely fail to teach you a few things, after all." He started walking again, not looking back to see if Terry followed him. "Don't worry, kid, you couldn't tell me much I don't already know." 

Terry had a hint that he might be right about that. "What's with the 'kid' thing?" he asked irritably. "You can't be that much older than I am." 

He thought he saw another smirk on Phoenix's face, but couldn't be sure. "I'm a lot older than I look." 

And he was supposed to be the one with the tired expressions? "So... How do you know about him?" 

"You seem like a bright kid, you figure it out." 

"For someone who said they wanted a favor from me, you sure don't seem to act like it." 

The corners of Phoenix's mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown. "You're right. It's just..." 

"Let me guess. It's complicated." 

"You got it. Let's just say that... We have history together." 

"Oh, right. _That_ clears it right up." 

Phoenix turned a piercing look on him that far too familiar. It was a disturbing sensation. 

"You remind me of someone I used to know." 

"Who?" Terry asked the question before he even had time to realize he'd said it aloud. 

Phoenix shook his head. "Uh uh. That's something else you'll have to find out for yourself." 

"How am I supposed to do that? You're not giving me much to go on." 

"Sorry about that, kid. I've been there myself. But that's one story I don't care to tell." 

Terry forced himself to take a deep breath before Phoenix's vague, half-answers made him ready to snap. He decided to change the subject. "You never answered my first question. What do you want?" 

"I need some information." 

"I thought you said I couldn't tell you anything you didn't already know." 

Phoenix glanced at him for half a second before turning his gaze back to the street. "You can't. But you can give me access to the Batcomputer for a short time without anyone else knowing I'm even there." 

He knew about the Batcomputer, too? In order to know about that he had to have been inside the Cave... Or known someone else who had. "Dick Grayson! I knew you looked familiar!" 

Phoenix's eyes widened enough to be noticeable and Terry heard a tiny, sharp intake of breath before Phoenix's features settled back into their previous guarded mask. "Congratulations, kid. You've got one more piece of the puzzle to play with." 

The question was, could he fit it into the right place? "Obviously you know him, why don't you just go ask him for whatever it is you want?" 

"Look, kid. I don't want to be here anymore than you want to deal with me," Phoenix evaded. "Give me half an hour with the Batcomputer, without him knowing I'm there. I do a little researching, then I'm gone and I don't come back. I'll be out of your hair and you can go back to fighting the bad guy of the week." 

"If it's that easy why don't you just ask _him_?" Terry repeated. 

Phoenix's hand balled into a tight fist and he looked away for a long moment. "I... I don't want to put him in danger. It's better if I handle this myself." 

"Right. Just a suggestion: next time, think your cover story through _before_ you try to sell it. What's the real reason you want my help?" 

Phoenix gave him a look of mild surprise. "Okay. I've tried every other source, but none of them have what I need to know." 

"And the reason you can't just ask him...?" 

Phoenix was quiet for a full minute. "It's complicated." 

Terry rolled his eyes and continued walking. They were both quiet for several minutes as they made their way down the street. Phoenix didn't seem to be thinking at all, but Terry used the time to weigh his options. He might be able to figure out what was going on if he agreed to help Phoenix... But he'd have to go behind Wayne's back to do it. "I can't help you," he finally said. 

"Can't or won't?" 

He stopped short again, Phoenix halting half a step later. "I have no reason to trust you. All I know about you is that you wear a costume, you've been well-trained, steal from some people, help others, that you look a hell of a lot like Dick Grayson did forty years ago, and that you have _some_ kind of history with Mr. Wayne." He shook his head. "I need more to go on if I'm going to decide to trust you or not." 

Phoenix raised an eyebrow at 'Mr. Wayne'. "He's still keeping secrets, huh?" 

Terry's expression took on a hard edge. "Yeah, and that's why I won't tell him about this conversation. Two can play that game." 

A ghost of a smile played at the edges of Phoenix's mouth. "Not that it makes much of a difference. He obviously knows I'm here already and it won't be long before he figures out the rest of it." 

"I don't suppose you could fill me in? It'd be nice to know something _before_ he does for a change." 

Phoenix's smiled bloomed into soft laughter. "It's tempting, just to picture the look on his face, but no." 

Terry scowled. "You're a lot like him, you know. Keeping secrets, not telling others what's going on..." 

Phoenix's merriment vanished in an instant. "No. I'm not like him. I keep my secrets for entirely different reasons." 

"And just what would those be?" Terry didn't really expect an answer, so he was surprised when he got one. 

"He keeps his secrets to control everyone around him. If you don't know what's happening, you can't make your own choice. You go along with what he wants." 

"What about you? Why do you keep your secrets?" Terry pressed. 

There was more silence from Phoenix. They really _were_ a lot alike. "For one thing, it's a long, long story. Like I said, a story I don't care to tell. It would take too long. And time is something I can't afford to waste right now." 

Terry shrugged with nonchalance. "Your choice. Personally, I'd think that if you had time enough to waste talking to me, you probably could have told the whole story by now. But what do I know? I'm just a kid, right?" 

Phoenix glared at him. "Yes. You are. You're not old enough to see what he's doing to you or how he's manipulating you." His gaze softened a little. "But I don't expect you to listen any more than..." Terry could have growled in frustration, but managed to keep quiet. 

"You know, McGinnis, there are easier after-school jobs," Phoenix said more than a little sadly. 

Terry wasn't sure he liked the new tone to Phoenix's voice. "Are you kidding? I'm going to put this on my college applications. 'Extracurricular activities: yearbook, intramural basketball, saving Gotham City from psycho costumed supervillains.'" 

Phoenix's laugh was still tinged with sorrow, but he did sound in better spirits. "That's good, kid. I can see why he chose you--" 

"It wasn't like that," Terry interrupted. "He didn't choose me. _I_ chose. I was the one who forced my way into being... You know." 

"I'm sure that's what you think--" 

"No. I _know_. He didn't want me to wear the mask at first, I had to _steal_ it to... take care of some things." Phoenix wasn't the only one who didn't want to share. "He wasn't exactly happy about it, but, if anything, _I_ forced him into this situation." 

"I know you're just telling it like you see it, kid, but you don't _know_ him. You can't see how he twists everything around." Phoenix paused to stare at him until Terry started to squirm inwardly. Phoenix had that look down perfectly. "But I'm wasting my time, aren't I? You don't want to hear it." 

"You weren't there," Terry pointed out. "You don't know what happened." 

Phoenix raised his eyebrows. "No, I don't. But I know _him_. I know how he works, and what he does to people." He took a sharp turn to his right, away from the direction of Terry's home, and called over his shoulder, "You'll see it, too, someday." 

Terry watched him go, not bothering to respond. He still didn't know what to make of this...situation...but now he had more to go on. Maybe enough for the pieces to start falling into place. 

* * *

**End Part One**


	3. Reunion

**Ancient History: Reunion**

Barbara stared into her coffee, not stirring it, not absentmindedly drumming her fingertips along the rim of the cup. Just sitting perfectly still, and staring. The surface of the liquid was black and calm, and in it she could see her reflection. Abruptly, she ripped open a packet of sweetener with perhaps more force than was necessary and dumped it into the cup, her spoon clinking angrily against the porcelain as she stirred. She'd been sitting at her desk, shuffling reports around as though that would count as actual work. Periodically she would make an attempt to understand the words on the pages rather than merely seeing them, but she retained nothing. 

Funny how when a truth that had worked its way into the fabric of your life turned out to be a lie, the threads around it seemed to unravel. 

All day since Bruce's phone call she had seesawed back and forth like this, between fierce anger and numb shock. She had even considered, in a moment of panic or selfishness, trying to convince Sam that a spur-of-the-moment vacation was in order, but discarded the idea immediately. The idea of leaving town for a while was certainly tempting, but thoroughly impractical. Besides, she wasn't the interloper. And she certainly wasn't going to run away. She'd stay out of it - whatever it turned out to be, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know - as much as possible, though. 

_It's not my business,_ she thought, _not anymore. Not for a long time._ That's what she'd tried to tell Terry McGinnis, but she knew that it wasn't entirely true. She couldn't divorce herself from her past, and, it seemed, she couldn't keep that past from reaching out to grab her. It was her obligation to face it head on, but it was also her responsibility, to herself, to her husband, to her job, not to let it catch her. She'd done an excellent job of that so far, even after Batman had reappeared, but now... 

Sighing, she pushed the coffee away from her. It had grown cold. She sat at her desk, and remembered that day that burned clear in her mind for so many reasons. The day of Tim's funeral. The day she'd seen Dick Grayson for what was supposed to have been the last time. 

**_...Approximately forty years previous..._**

Barbara straightened the magazines on the end table for the third time in ten minutes. It wasn't absolutely necessary, but somehow they kept shifting out of their neat little pile and she didn't want Alfred to have to deal with it in the morning. 

Her gaze wandered away from the now orderly stack to where Bruce was still staring into the dying firelight that cast flickering shadows across his face. It amazed her just how small he looked in the cavernous room. He had never been small to her before. In him, she could see the little lost boy whose world had just been shattered, and she wanted to go to him, to help him pick up the pieces. 

But just like the last two times she had organized the magazines, Barbara took several steps in his direction then at the last second veered off to tidy up something else. This time, however, he seemed to notice her movements, and when she brushed by him, he reached out a hand to hold her still. 

"Barbara." 

She felt her heart turn over when she realized that the hand around her wrist was _shaking_. It was barely noticeable; she would never have been aware of it if he hadn't been touching her. For Bruce, this was an immense display emotion, and she couldn't help but marvel that she was here to witness it. 

Barbara moved closer to him, sitting down beside him on the couch. As fascinated by Bruce's demonstration of feelings as she was, she wanted nothing more than to be able to give his control back to him. It just wasn't _like_ him. She closed her free hand over his, quelling the tremors there. 

Bruce lifted his other hand to her face, wiping away tears she hadn't even known were there. He started to pull away, but his hand stopped just short of breaking that connection. Now that she was looking for them, Barbara could see fine shivers running throughout his entire body. 

She wrapped her arms around him, hoping to do the same with her embrace as her hand had done moments before. A week ago, Barbara would have given nearly anything to have him need her like this. Now, she would have done anything to have him _not_ need her. She felt him press his face into her hair, clutching at her like the proverbial drowning man. Acting on instinct, she drew back just enough to press her lips to his cheek. 

Stunned by what she had just done, Barbara pulled away from him. The look in Bruce's eyes broke her heart. She had never seen anyone look so lost and alone. She couldn't seem to remember how to work her body as he leaned in towards her, stopping only a few inches from her face, indecision warring with raw need in those eyes. 

She made the decision for him and closed the distance between them, gently pressing her lips to his. They stayed that way for several long moments until his tightly wound body began to relax. He seemed to throw himself into the kiss and Barbara was nearly overwhelmed by the intensity of it. It wasn't until she heard a sharp gasp from the doorway that she was able to pull herself back to awareness. 

"My god..." 

Bruce broke away from her and stood up, starting in his former ward's direction. "Dick..." Barbara couldn't see the look on his face, but she knew it had to mirror the tone of his voice. 

Dick paid no attention to it, however, and turned a furious expression on Bruce. "How _could_ you? How dare you take advantage of her like that!" 

"It wasn't like that!" Barbara defended. 

"How long has this been going on?" Dick closed his eyes briefly, as if in physical pain. "God, how could I have been so _stupid_?" 

"You're jumping to conclusions. It was one moment. And no one took advantage of me. I'm a grown woman, Dick." 

A look of disgust crossed his features. "I don't want to hear it. I was going to ask you to come with me, but I guess I shouldn't have bothered." His eyes blazed brightly at them before his hands tightened into fists and his face completely shut down. "You've obviously made your choice." 

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked. If it hadn't been _Bruce_, Barbara could have sworn she heard a trace of panic in the question. 

When it became obvious that Dick wasn't going to answer, Bruce tried again. "Dick?" 

Dick turned his back on them. "Away from you." He didn't even glance back at them as he walked away. "Goodbye, Barbara." 

She leapt off the sofa, intending to go after him, but Bruce grabbed her arm. She made an attempt at pulling her arm free and he tightened his grip. It wasn't painful, but it held her firmly in place. Bruce shook his head. "Let him go." 

**_...Present time..._**

She'd spent every moment since Bruce's call that morning watching for him. Waiting for him to appear out of thin air and startle her enough to make her jump. She would be prepared for him; she knew all the little tricks, too. He would appear when she least suspected him, _where_ she least suspected him. He would try to keep her off-balance and knock her guard down. 

Just like Bruce would have done. 

She would rather not have met him in the police commissioner's office, but she would _not_ be driven from her own turf. She wasn't going to make this easy for him; he'd lost that courtesy a long time ago. Yet, despite all her preparation, he still managed to surprise her. 

"Almost like old times, huh, Babs?" 

Despite all the time bracing herself, she still jumped. Not much, barely more than a flinch, but he would notice. She fixed a frown on her face and turned to face him. 

"No," she answered coldly. His barely hopeful expression wavered, then hardened to match her own. "Things have changed. Not much is still the same as it used to be. But you wouldn't know about that." 

She had a moment of satisfaction when he looked away from her. He may have scored the first point, but she wasn't out of this yet. 

"I guess that answers my first question. You're angry." He hopped down from the window sill he'd been perched on and moved to put the desk between them. "I can't say I didn't expect that." 

As she watched him, she noted he still moved with that athletic grace he'd employed as Robin and then Nightwing. She had no doubt he could still perform every move, trick, or stunt he'd pulled back then. She didn't want to admit it, but part of her was jealous. He was so _young_. As agile as he'd always been. 

And she was old. Her hair gray, her skin wrinkled, even her voice changed by age. Her bones ached when the weather was especially bad. She couldn't chase criminals anymore, unless it was by car. Eventually even that would no longer be available to her when her eyesight grew worse. 

And he was _young_. 

She didn't want to hate him for that. She'd loved him at one time; it hurt to think how far they'd grown apart. She'd once told McGinnis that what she and Dick had shared was nothing more than "puppy love". She'd implied that when she'd stayed with Bruce, he'd been unable to handle it. 

It was the truth as she'd seen it, leaving out the details she couldn't tell the kid, of course. Some habits died hard and some never died at all. 

Dick was staring at her oddly now, looking as though he wanted to say something. She realized she'd been lost in her own thoughts long enough for him to notice. Another hazard of old age. 

"I don't know what you came to me for," she started. She folded her hands together and rested her elbows on the edge of the desk. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know." 

He looked ready to protest, so she plowed on. "I'm not my father, Dick. I don't sanction masked vigilantes running around and getting into dangerous situations, no matter how well they think they're prepared for it." She paused for just a second. "_You_ should know that better than anyone." 

"Barbara, I came to you to explain--" 

"I _said_ I didn't want to know." 

His neutral expression melted into anger so fierce he almost snarled his next words. "I didn't come here just to dredge up the past, if that's what you're thinking. There's no one--_no one_--who would like to see it buried more than I would." He leapt up from his chair to start pacing in front of her desk. "I certainly sacrificed enough trying to put the past behind me." 

That was more than she could take. "_Sacrifice_? What on earth did you sacrifice?" 

He stopped to face her. "My home. When I left Gotham, I had to leave Alfred behind. He was my best friend. I also had to leave... you. Maybe you don't think I cared, but that's not true." 

A piece of her heart she'd thought long-dead was urging her to go to him. To make amends and set things right. But she couldn't do it. "And what did you get for those sacrifices? Was it enough to make up for the hurt you caused everyone that cared about you?" She saw the pained look on his face, but paid no attention. "What do you know about sacrifice? You chose to give up your life. You knew the consequences and did it, anyway. In my book that's a worse sin than the mistake that started everything in the first place." 

"Mistake!? You call what he did--" 

"Yes," she cut him off. "Just because you don't want to hear it, that doesn't change what it was." She took several deep, calming breaths. She didn't want to have this conversation in anger. "I spent a lot of time thinking about that night. Objectively. I was there, I saw what happened." 

She lowered her voice, unable to speak her next words harshly. "It wasn't his fault. If he could have given his life to bring Tim back, he would have done it in a heartbeat. Not even you can deny that." 

She waited for an answer from him, only half-expecting one. When he didn't give her one, she hoped her message was still clear. 

"It's not his fault, Dick. He made a choice--a _bad_ choice--to protect you. _He_ made the sacrifices. He was the one that lost everyone he cared about." 

His voice was devoid of any emotions that she could detect. "You're still on his side." 

She sighed as she stood and made her way over to him. With a gentle hand on his arm, she repeated the same words she'd said a lifetime ago. "It's not about choosing sides. It's not you or him. I care about you both." 

His eyes were unusually bright as he looked down at her. "I don't want to be angry with you," he said softly. "I'm so _tired_ of being angry." 

"Then stop." 

He shook his head. "It's not that simple." 

Nothing ever was with any of them. "It is if you let it be." 

"It's not." He covered her hand with his own and she looked down at the pair of them. Her weathered skin under his still-smooth hands. It had been so easy to forget... 

There was a hooded look back in his eyes when she pulled away. He laughed softly, a brittle sound even to her ears. "You see? It's not so easy to just let go of everything, is it?" 

"You've had a lifetime," she pointed out. "I've had a few hours." 

A look she couldn't describe descended over his features. "Whatever it was that made you quit being Batgirl," he said. "Will you ever be able to just let go of it?" 

"...No," she answered quietly. If only she could, she might have been able to reconcile the two sides of her life then. Former Batgirl and Commissioner Barbara Gordon almost never agreed on Batman's increasing role in Gotham City. 

"He knows you're here," she said suddenly. "Go talk to him. Deal with whatever brought you back to Gotham. You wouldn't have come back if you had any other choice. So why are you putting it off?" 

The corners of his mouth twitched up in a half-smile. "You always were good at putting things in perspective, Babs." 

This time the nickname made her respond with a smile matching his. It wasn't much of one, but he saw it. He laid one hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently, as he moved towards the window again. 

She grabbed his arm, halting him in his tracks. At his questioning look she shook her head. "No." She pointed at the door to her office. "I'm not my father. When you leave my office, you use a _door_." 

She could see him start to say something but force it back. "Fair enough." 

As he pushed open the door to leave, she gave in to the impulse to call out to him again. 

"And, Dick? One last thing." 

"What's that?" 

"It's been forty years. You couldn't have cut your hair?" 

* * *

After a quick stop at his hotel to change into his Phoenix costume and slip out the window again, Dick decided to follow Barbara's advice. He had no other choice since Bane was almost ready to move. 

Bane. It had all started with Bane. No, that wasn't true... 

**_...Approximately forty years previous..._**

He awoke to a brief second of tranquillity before the pain came screaming back. His eyes opened, then closed tightly against the bright light that seemed to be trying to tear his head in two. When the sharp pain faded into merely pins and needles, he tried again. He looked around and saw that he'd made it to the Batcave. 

The Batcave. _Bane_. There wasn't time to wait for the jolts of lightning to subside. He had to get up right now. He had to get ready to fight Bane again. That was why he was here. 

Bruce was standing off to his right, an expression that could have passed for either concern or anger on his face. Dick was never entirely sure. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him and handed him a glass of water and some aspirin, which he accepted gratefully. Bruce helped him to slowly sit up and he downed the little pills. 

"You want to tell me what happened?" Bruce asked. 

Not really. He wasn't especially proud of this encounter. "Bane." 

Bruce nodded. It didn't surprise Dick that he'd already figured that out. "You've got a lot of bruising, but that's to be expected. There's no internal bleeding, but you've cracked a few ribs. You also twisted your ankle pretty badly. You're going to have to stay off of it for awhile." 

Dick looked down at his tightly wrapped ankle and tried to wiggle it around a little. Wincing at the pain that shot up his leg, he decided not to do that again anytime soon. 

Bane had thrown him up against a wall, then proceeded to attempt to use him for a little soccer practice. Dick was surprised that he came away from the fight without any broken bones. But a useless ankle was almost as bad. "How long?" 

"Two weeks, minimum." 

"I can't wait that long. I..." Dick looked away. "Bane was winning, but the cops showed up before we could finish the fight. He took off before..." When he looked back Bruce was already moving across the room. "I _have_ to finish this fight. Before he left, he told me to meet him again at the Gotham Hills Arena. If I don't show up--" 

Bruce didn't even glance back at him. "It's out of the question." Of all people, _Bruce_ was telling him not to finish what he'd started? "In the state you're in, you don't stand a chance. I'll go." 

"Like hell you will!" Dick shouted. He forced his voice back to it's normal level when his injured ribs protested. "He's expecting _me_. Not you." 

"He'll just have to deal with Batman, then." Bruce turned to face him again. Dick was taken aback by the intensity of his expression. "Your pride will just have to be set aside. I'm not going to let you get... hurt just because you don't want help. We'll both go." 

"No, this is my fight. You'll just find some way to try to _protect_ me and make sure that _you_ end up fighting him." Dick shook his head and immediately regretted that action, too. The aspirin hadn't had nearly enough time to kick in yet, and his head still felt like it was in a vise. "I'm not running to Bat-dad to fight my battles for me." 

"You're overreacting. It's suicide for you to try to take him on by yourself. Don't be stupid." 

"How many times have you left the rest of us behind while you went off on some personal vendetta?" Dick noticed that he still held the empty glass in his hand and set it down on the low table next to the bed before he either shattered it or threw it at Bruce's head. "This is between me and Bane. I won't let you interfere, Bruce." 

And he wouldn't. He knew there was very little chance Batman wouldn't show up anyway, but Dick refused to let Bruce keep him from this fight. 

"You don't have a choice. You could barely stand against a common thug right now. You would be no match for Bane. Do you _want_ him to crush you?" 

"Of course not." He knew his reasoning sounded flat and lame, but couldn't Bruce see that he had to do this on his own? That he had to prove he was someone to take seriously? "I've fought Bane before and I'm still here, aren't I? I'll think of something, find some way to beat him." 

The look Bruce gave him clearly said that was a load of crap and they both knew it. "You're not going on your own, and that's final. I forbid it." 

_What_? Forbidding him to do something hadn't worked in a long time, and certainly not since he'd moved out of the Manor. He couldn't believe Bruce was resorting to it now. "I know I didn't just hear that, because you have no right--" 

Bruce turned his back on him, dismissing the matter as closed. "This isn't up for debate." 

"You're right. It isn't." 

Bruce walked back over to the bed and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad we at least agree on that, son." 

Dick tilted his head back to look at Bruce, wondering at the odd note in his mentor's voice. He was about to ask what Bruce meant by that when he felt the prick of the needle in his arm. 

It took a second to register the sensation and another second to process what it meant. He fell back on the bed despite his attempts to remain upright. As the blackness rapidly swallowed his consciousness, Dick had just enough time to whisper, "You son of a..." 

* * *

Once again Dick came back to a blissful moment of peace before everything came rushing back to him. This time it wasn't pain, but a rage unlike anything he'd felt since the last night he'd worn his Robin costume. 

What the _hell_ had that been about!? What had Bruce been thinking? He'd always been controlling, but this was far beyond anything he usually did to get his way. 

Not that he'd ever get an answer out of Bruce. Bruce did what he wanted and didn't feel the need to justify his actions to anyone. This time, though, he'd gone too far. Dick was not going to let him get away with it. 

When he opened his eyes again, instead of finding himself staring at the ceiling of the Batcave, he was back in his old room. The tattered mess of his Nightwing costume had been removed and he was now wearing a comfortable pair of pajamas. 

He placed a hand against his temple cautiously, afraid even the lightest touch would cause him pain. But there was only a dull sort of ache that would at least let him achieve some mobility. 

He eased himself into a sitting position, still not quite trusting his body. When once again he found the pain tolerable, he tried sliding all the way out of the bed. He needed to get downstairs and figure out exactly what time it was. Or what day it was. He had no idea what had been in that syringe, nor how long it had knocked him out. 

He hissed in pain as his twisted ankle refused to hold his weight, quickly supporting himself with the other foot. A once-over of the room didn't reveal anything that he could use to help him on the way downstairs. He was left to his own devices. 

Since there was no other way, he gritted his teeth and resorted to a half-hopping, half-skipping move that didn't keep the pressure on his bad ankle for more than a second. He also frequently made use of nearby walls, tables, banisters--whatever could support his weight while he rested. 

He knew that there would be at least one set of crutches in the Batcave; in their line of work they never knew when a pair would be needed. Obviously Bruce hadn't wanted him to leave his room if he hadn't put a pair in there. 

It was a small thing, but it still added fuel to the fire. With Bruce it had to have been deliberate. Bruce thought of _everything_. 

Dick concentrated on the renewed sense of anger that had faded with the onset of his painful journey to the Batcave. The anger almost allowed him to forget about the physical pain. 

After what seemed like hours, Dick finally made it to the Batcave and over to the storage locker where they kept the larger medical supplies. He pulled out a pair of crutches, relief spreading through him as he no longer had to hold all his weight on one foot. However, with all the effort it had taken to get down there, his headache was back with a vengeance. He was just about to start looking around for more aspirin when he heard a rumbling sound in the distance. It could only be one thing. 

His headache forgotten immediately, he hobbled over to the edge of the Batmobile's platform. He didn't want to waste a second when Batman got out of the car. 

Surprisingly, Batgirl came in first on one of the Batcycles. Dick expected her to jump off the thing and ask him how he was doing, but she just sat there, staring down at the controls. 

She obviously didn't see him or realize that he'd been hurt. _Didn't Bruce tell her...?_ It wasn't as if he wanted coddling, it was just that Barbara was always concerned when someone was hurt. 

Batgirl slowly pulled off her mask but still didn't look up at Dick. She stared at the cowl in her hands with an even more vacant stare, if that were possible. 

"Barbara?" Dick asked hesitantly. 

Her head shot up to turn that blank look in his direction, and Dick saw that her eyes were unusually bright. She looked ready to cry. Dick felt a finger of ice travel down his back. Barbara almost never cried. He tried again, softer this time. "Babs?" 

Her voice was so faint he almost couldn't make it out. "Dick?" One hand flew to her mouth and she was silent again. 

A few seconds later the Batmobile roared into the cave. Dick didn't even turn to look as he heard the roof slide back and the muted click of Batman's boots as he landed gently on the ground. What could make Barbara ready to _cry_? 

Dick felt a hand at his elbow, gently but firmly pushing him in the direction of the stairs. "You should be in bed, resting, son," Bruce said. There was something off about him as well. It wasn't just that he, too, had pushed back his cowl, even though Bruce almost _always_ wore the mask when in costume. There was just something... haunted in his eyes. That, more than anything, caused Dick to worry. 

"Where were you?" he demanded. Dick tried to pull out of that grip, but Bruce wasn't letting go. 

The hand on his arm tightened for an instant before it loosened again. "Dick..." He trailed off before completing the thought. Bruce at a loss for words? "It's..." he began again. 

Dick made another attempt to pull his arm free without success. "What happened?" 

Barbara began crying softly, the tears finally falling down her face. "It's Tim!" she sobbed. 

No. "What--" His voice caught on the question. "What happened?" 

"He was in the wrong place at the wrong time," Bruce answered. "He leapt at Bane, thinking he had a clear shot at the tubes feeding him the Venom. But Bane turned at the last second. It was all over in an instant. He didn't suffer." 

"All over in an instant? He didn't suffer?" Dick repeated, stunned. "And that's supposed to make it better somehow?" 

"Dick--" 

This time he managed to pull himself free, though the force he used caused him to stumble and reminded him of the injuries to his ribs. Bruce reached out a hand to steady him, but Dick flinched away as if burned. "Don't! This is all your fault. You killed him!" He felt hot tears pricking at his eyes, but he refused to give into them. 

"That's not true!" Barbara said sharply. "You don't even know what happened! You weren't there!" 

Dick felt himself actually shaking at the reminder. "You're right. I wasn't there. Did he tell you _why_ I wasn't there, Barbara? Did he?" 

The hand that had dropped to her side now returned to her face, pressing against her cheek this time. Her eyes widened at the vehemence in his voice and she shook her head. 

"I wasn't there because _he_--" he jabbed a finger in the direction of Bruce, who had moved to the passenger side of the Batmobile, "--_drugged_ me." 

Barbara gasped loudly and asked in a small voice, "Is that true?" 

Bruce didn't answer or even appear to have heard her question. He lifted... Tim... out of the car and turned away from them so that all that was visible were the dangling legs and the gently fluttering cape. 

Dick's heart wrenched when he tried to comprehend the image. No more Tim to pal around with, to treat like the little brother he'd never had, to trade horror stories about Batman with... 

"It should have been me. I should have been the one--" 

"Don't you dare say that!" Bruce interrupted with a harsh yell. He'd put the body down on one of the medical beds and was in front of Dick again almost as fast as he could blink. He gripped Dick's jaw with an iron fist and growled, "Don't you _ever_ say that." 

The fierce look in Bruce's eyes that would have likely caused him to cower at any other time only made him angrier now. "Why not? It's true. _I_ should have been there instead of him. It was my fight and you drugged me to keep me away. It's your fault. You killed him." 

His words hit home and Bruce dropped his hand. "I... I just wanted..." 

"You just wanted what?" Dick pressed on mercilessly. "To control everyone around you? Well, I hope you're happy with the results." 

Without warning, Barbara's hand was on his shoulder. "Dick, it's not his fault. You know this isn't what he planned or wanted. You _know_ that." 

Was he the only one who saw it? The only one who saw how Bruce had manipulated everything? "You're on his side now? After what just happened?" 

"It's not about choosing sides. Don't turn it into that," she pleaded. 

Suddenly, Bruce was back at his other side again. "Son, I--" 

Dick pushed both of them away with all the strength he had. "Don't you dare say that! I'm _not_ your son. I don't want to have anything to do with you." He felt one tear slip free and swiped viciously at it before another one could follow. "I don't want to ever see you again." 

With that he made his way up the stairs and back to his room where he changed into street clothes, blindly shoved some things into a backpack, and hobbled out of Wayne Manor. 

And didn't look back. 

**_...Present time..._**

With a start, Dick pulled back to himself and realized he was at the entrance to the Batcave already. He'd hoped it would have taken a little longer than it had, but he was here now. It was time to get on with it. 

* * *

Bruce stood near the top of the stairs, his face still hidden in the shadows, his eyes riveted to the figure in front of the bank of Bat-costumes. Dick was dressed as Phoenix, his black catsuit nearly blending into the shadows of the cave, the red phoenix on his chest almost glowing in the soft light spilling over from the display. Bruce had made it relatively simple for Dick to gain access, enough to let Dick know that he was aware of him. 

"You knew I was coming." 

"Barbara called." 

Dick merely nodded. Bruce used the temporary silence as a chance to study Dick more closely. Their encounter the previous night hadn't allowed for more than a few seconds to scrutinize repeatedly. But despite the call from Barbara and his intstincts telling him that this _was_ Dick Grayson, he'd forced himself to remain open to the possibility that this was some elaborate scheme. It was entirely possible that Ra's still held a grudge over Bruce's refusal to join him. But he couldn't deny it now; he _knew_ this man. 

It should have been strange to see Dick unaffected by time, but it wasn't. This was the son he knew. 

"I see you're still torturing yourself. Good." 

Bruce didn't even flinch. "Alfred once asked me to take them down." 

"Why didn't you?" They both knew the answer to that one. There was no need to reply. Dick was still as transparent as glass. Bruce saw him come to the realization that he was only avoiding the subject. "Where is Alfred these days?" 

That answer was obvious, too. Nor was there any reason to avoid the subject. "He's dead. He died about a year after you-- after Nightwing did." 

Bruce watched as he absorbed the news, noticing the almost invisible flinch. The Robin suit caught and held Dick's attention as his focus returned solely to the display case. 

The signs may have been subtle to anyone else, but they were impossible for Bruce to miss. The narrowing of his eyes as if to block out anything but the view of Tim's costume. The fingers twitching almost imperceptibly, like they wanted to curl into a fist and smash right through the glass. The faint thinning of his lips, as if to make up for even the few seconds not spent scowling. 

He moved farther into the cave, closer to Dick and the reminders he was so intent on. Once he was close enough, Bruce reached out to lay a hand on Dick's shoulder. 

Dick whirled around with an angry snarl, "Don't touch me!" He shook Bruce's hand off violently and took a small step backwards. 

"I'm disappointed in you, Dick. I never thought you would do something like this." 

"You think that means anything to me? That you're disappointed? I'm not some wet-behind-the-ears kid looking for approval from the great Batman, anymore." 

"No, you're just an angry man devoting his life to what you think is revenge." Part of him didn't want to continue, he knew his words would hurt. But if Dick was going to throw his life away like this, someone had to wake him up. 

"Revenge?" Dick laughed harshly. "I'm not out for revenge. What I do with my life has _nothing_ to do with you. I had to learn it the hard way, but I learned my lesson. You stopped having any influence over me a long time ago." 

"You're deluding yourself--" 

"No! I _was_ deluding myself. Until..." He shook his head. "I was so blind then. But not anymore. Never again." 

"You think you can see clearly now? You think there was a valid _reason_ for partnering with a known eco-terrorist? What did you tell yourself? That you could change his mind? That you could bring him down from the inside? You're not that stupid." 

Dick looked away from him. "It's my life. I can do what I want with it." 

"Not if you're going to throw it away." 

Bruce could see his words had the inteded effect. Even with the dark cave and even darker costume, he could see Dick's entire body coil so tightly he looked ready to snap. "It's my life to throw away, not anyone else's." 

"So, you admit you're throwing it away, that you made mistakes." 

"I don't have to admit anything to you. Whether it was a mistake or not is none of your business." 

Bruce's calm expression didn't change as he raised a single eyebrow. "Of course it's my business. I taught you better than that." 

"You taught me better than what, Bruce? What did you teach me better than?" 

Bruce refused to let Dick sway him from his indignation. "I taught you better than to deal with people like Ra's al Ghul. You don't know what kind of effect those Lazarus pits can have on you--" 

"Ra's has been using them for about six hundred years. I think that any side effects would have shown themselves by now, don't you?" 

"How do you know they haven't?" Bruce countered. "How do you know they haven't affected your mind? Ra's is insane, he wants to destroy and rebuild the world in his own image. Is that what you want, too?" 

Dick turned away from him, not back to the display case, but off into some far corner of the Batcave. "Whether or not I agree with Ra's' plan isn't important." 

"It's very important." 

Bruce could see Dick's teeth grind together so harshly he knew it had to be painful. "No. It's not. And even if it were, you don't have any right to ask." 

Every cell in his body wanted to reach out to Dick, to ease the tension radiating from him, to make things _right_ again. But he couldn't seem to find the words or the gesture to make that first step. He could only find the old, familiar, angry words. "The hell I don't! You're behaving like a petulant child, determined to do everthing exactly the opposite of what I would do, just to prove to the world that you don't need me!" 

It was exactly what Dick didn't want to hear. His eyes blazed with a fury Bruce had seen only a few times in Dick's life. "That's not true! I made my _own_ choices. Because of _me_, not because of you!" 

"_You_ chose to join Ra's al Ghul? You agreed to be his heir and you think that had nothing to do with me?" 

Dick looked at him with just a hint of uncertainty flickering across his face. "It's not always about you, Bruce. I've been out of your shadow for a long time. But the kid doesn't know any better, he doesn't know what you're like. He doesn't know how you twist things, how you make people think they're doing what _they_ want, when it's really what _you_ want. I know better, you don't have control over _me_." 

Bruce pointed to the red phoenix on his chest. "And, yet, you're still wearing a costume." 

Dick stared down at his costume for several long seconds. He understood then. Good. There was no point in backing Dick into this corner if he wasn't going to understand what Bruce was trying to show him. 

Dick's hands clenched so tightly they would have drawn blood if he hadn't been wearing the protective gloves of his Phoenix costume. He shook his head violently and looked back up at Bruce. "I won't let you manipulate me anymore, Bruce. You're still doing it even now." 

"I don't see how pointing out the obvious is manipulation," Bruce said evenly. "All I see is you telling me that I don't control you anymore and that you're your own man. _You_ made the choice to stay in a costume, then. If you made that choice--completely free of my manipulation--so could Terry." 

"He's a _child_," Dick hissed. "He doesn't know what he wants, doesn't know how this life will change him. But, then, you were always a good manipulator of children. Too bad they usually wound up _dead_ because of it." 

Bruce felt the words as if Dick had physically hit him. He felt everything around him start to recede, as if he were watching the scene from underwater or in slow-motion. He saw Terry emerge from the shadows of the Batcave, and could faintly hear his words of defense, saying that it was _his_ choice to be Batman. 

His vision collapsed inward, and he thought fleetingly he might be hallucinating, as the last thing he saw was Dick racing to his side before the blackness eclipsed everything but the pain radiating through his entire body. 

* * *

Dick made his way across Gotham with no particular destination in mind. 

When Bruce had collapsed, his immediate reaction had been a rush of terror for his former mentor's sake. The McGinnis kid had been hiding unnoticed in the shadows, only making himself known when the conversation had turned to his role in their little 'family'. They had begun to argue when a loud groan had drawn their attention. 

He'd stayed just long enough to suggest that McGinnis get Bruce to a hospital. When the kid had reassured him that it was just a mild attack and that he could take care of Bruce just fine, Dick had grabbed at the chance to leave. Too much had happened in too short a span; he needed time to regain some of his lost equilibrium. 

So, he was still flying across the night sky, letting himself revel a little in the curious feeling of being _home_ again. 

He let his feet take him wherever they would go, and was surprised when he reached a deserted cemetery. It took him a moment to recognize the place in the dark. He hadn't been here since.... 

The tombstones seemed to almost glow in the moonlight. Dick stood at the edge of the graveyard, trying to keep his eyes from settling on a particular marker, but failing. He wasn't the type to be scared by a cemetery--being Batman's partner taught you early on to have no fear of things otherworldly. 

However, the last time he'd been here it had been daylight. Dick couldn't suppress a shiver as he carefully threaded his way through the tombstones, stopping before the one he was looking for. 

Dick placed a hand over the lettering, unable to feel the individual grooves through the heavy material of his costume. "Hey, kid. I know it's late, but I don't think you'll mind, huh? 

"I know it's been more than just a little while since I last... talked to you, but I couldn't stick around." Dick glanced over at the huge tombstone for Martha and Thomas Wayne. Tim had been buried next to them at Bruce's request. 

Dick tried to summon some sort of anger over that, but he couldn't. It certainly wasn't the Waynes' fault, and he knew that Tim would have wanted to be buried near his adoptive family. 

He turned back to Tim's grave. "It's not that I didn't want to, I just... If I had come back, he would have known and I had to keep him out of my life. You understand that, right? 

"I know that you wouldn't blame him for what happened, but you couldn't _see_. Not yet. I finally saw it and I think eventually Barbara did, too. You probably would have given time, but you were too young when...." 

He shook his head. "I also know that it'd hurt you to think that what happened to you caused everything to fall apart. But that's not what happened. It started even before that. Before he drugged me, before I became Nightwing or Robin. It started when he put on that mask and became Batman. There was no way to avoid what happened except to walk away. 

"And that's what I did. I finally got out of his control and started living my own life. I'm sorry that when I cut off all ties to my past that that included you." 

Dick brushed his hand over the words "Timothy Drake" one final time before standing up to leave. "I know I just got here, but I can't stay. I just... can't. But I wanted you to know that I'm sorry what happened to you was the catalyst for all this. 

"And most of all, I'm sorry for not seeing who he really was sooner. I'm sorry for not being able to save you." 

* * *

The first few rays of sunlight made their way across the horizon, turning the sky a bright golden orange as Dick watched Wayne Manor through the bars of the massive iron gates. He'd known there was no avoiding going back to the manor in the morning. He couldn't leave Gotham without the information he'd come for, and that meant facing Bruce again. 

After the taxi had dropped him off in front of the main gates he spent several minutes just standing in front of them, not quite sure what to do. Once he wouldn't have thought twice about passing through the gates and into the house beyond. Once he had lived there, had the right to come and go as he pleased. Now.... 

He could have gone in through the Batcave again, but that would have required his Phoenix costume. Going in uniform would have felt awkward, brought up too many questions about his life as Phoenix that he didn't want to answer. He was going to have to explain enough without adding that to the mix. 

Dick pushed his hands further into the pockets of his long coat as another cold blast of wind hit him. He watched as it caused the fallen leaves to flitter around the huge yard as if mirroring the thoughts in his head. There was a sound off in the distance that Dick could have sworn was a dog barking, but when he listened more closely all he could hear howling was the wind. 

Another particularily strong and frigid gust prompted Dick to pull one hand out of what little warmth his coat offered and lift it to the intercom. 

He laid his fingertips lightly on the button but didn't actually press it. He was still staring at it when the large gates began to slowly open. Dick withdrew his hand more sharply than he intended, shoving it back into his pocket. 

There was no use in standing outside any longer, he'd only lose what body heat he had left. Dick slowly began to make his way up the long drive. 

Once at the front door, he wasn't surprised to find it opened easily for him and Dick slid gratefully into the warmth of the house. He let himself close his eyes and savor the almost painful tingling sensation of the rapid temperature change for just a moment. It'd been a long time since he'd been anywhere significantly chilly. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was met by an intimidating view. Bruce was at the front of the group, his sharp gaze riveted on Dick. By his side was a huge, black dog that growled when Dick looked its way. And standing slightly behind them was Terry, his arms crossed and a watchful look on his face. 

Dick quirked an eyebrow at the scene they presented. "Gee, it's so nice of you to roll out the welcome wagon. Do I get a muffin basket, too?" 

Bruce's expression didn't waver, but Terry's took on a hard edge. He stepped forward, ready to demand answers from Dick, but Bruce stretched out an arm, holding him back. Without turning towards Terry, he ordered, "Take Ace back outside." 

"But--" Terry began. 

"Now!" There were only a handful of people who could disobey an order from Bruce Wayne when he used that tone, and Terry wasn't yet one of them. Terry shot Dick one more quick, angry glare and grabbed Ace by the collar, leading him outside. 

As soon as he was out of hearing range, Dick said, "You don't seem surprised to see me again." 

"Should I be?" 

"No, I guess not." 

Dick finally really focused on Bruce for the first time that morning and involuntarily sucked in a deep breath as he got his first good look at Bruce's appearance. Last night, the Batcave had provided little light and mostly shadows. But the cavernous room that still held memories of his last meeting with Bruce and Barbara offered no such protection. There were no dim corners to hide the wrinkled, craggy skin and sunken eyes. No shadows to hide the _cane_ used to support Bruce. 

Dick saw his own reaction ripple through Bruce before his face returned to its usual guarded state. Dick's heart wanted to leap into his throat for both of them but he savagely pushed it back down. 

He couldn't forget why he was here. 

Time to get back to business. _Just put everything out of your mind, Grayson._ "You already know about Ra's," Dick began. "But you may not know about... Bane." He'd thought he could say the name like it was any other villain's. He'd certainly thought about Bane enough to take the edge off those thoughts, why was it so different to say his name aloud? 

"Bane? He died three months ago. I've been keeping tabs on--" Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Ra's helped him fake his death." 

Dick nodded. "Got it in one. Care to take a guess at what happened next?" Bruce's cane made a soft tapping noise as he moved to sit in one of the chairs close to the fireplace in the main room. Dick forced himself to block out the sound. 

"Ra's revived him through the Lazarus pits?" Bruce guessed. 

Dick nodded again and crossed his arms over his chest. "The Lazarus pits can heal the sick; that includes reversing a great deal of aging," he confirmed. 

"And an entire lifetime of drug use." 

It was his opening. "That's why I'm here. The Lazarus pits don't react well to chemicals not natural to the body. Sometimes the combination is harmless, other times..." 

"You need the Venom formula." 

He'd forgotten just how _fast_ Bruce's mind worked. "Right. I... I know what properties are likely to react badly with the Lazarus liquid. If Venom does have those properties it could be my best chance at stopping him." 

"Why come to Gotham for it? Why come here and not the prison where it was first developed?" Even after all the time that had passed, Bruce's stare could still pin him right in place and make him feel as though he were an open book just waiting for Bruce to turn the pages. 

"Destroyed. Guess he didn't want anyone finding it. If he's destroying evidence of his Venom formula it's likely that he plans to start using again and doesn't want it used against him." 

Bruce steepled his fingers and continued to stare at Dick for a long minute. "Why would Ra's choose Bane to be his successor if there was a chance that his Venom would interfere with the Lazarus pits?" 

Dick finally had to look away. This time there were no heavy gloves to prevent his nails from cutting into the skin of his palms. "He chose Bane because of me," he ground out. 

"Because of you?" 

Dick didn't know how Bruce had manipulated him into a corner again, but here he was. He damn well knew exactly why Ra's would have chosen Bane. 

To admit that he'd left Ra's now would be to admit that he'd made a mistake. He shouldn't have to admit anything to Bruce. But he was stuck. Bruce wouldn't be satisfied until Dick said the words. 

"He chose Bane because he knew that it would anger me. He was angry when I left and wanted to return the favor." 

"Like he did when he chose you to be his heir." Dick wanted to deny the accusation but couldn't find the words. He was spared from answering when Bruce asked another question. "Why did you leave?" 

_None of your damned business!_ he wanted to snap. Dick took a deep breath and reined in his anger. "That's not important. What's important is that Ra's isn't in control anymore. Bane has taken over and he needs to be stopped." 

"How do you know this is all true and not some elaborate scheme of Ra's'?" 

Dick resented the implication that he could be that naive, but let it pass. "Talia wouldn't lie to me." 

Bruce's eyebrows shot up. Dick felt a perverse sense of pleasure at being able to get a visible reaction "Talia?" 

"Yes. She and I became... friends... while I was with Ra's." The corner of his mouth lifted up in a half-smile as he thought of the woman who'd been his only real friend at the time. "She was never happy about Bane. She doesn't love him and he'll never care about her. She can't stand what he's doing to her father. Talia wants him stopped, too." 

Dick saw his words leave the impression on Bruce that he and Talia had been lovers. In truth, she had wanted that, but Dick didn't return her feelings. He could never get past seeing Bruce's reflection in her eyes. 

But he wouldn't tell Bruce that. Let him think that Dick had found more than friendship in Talia's arms. 

"Who has to be stopped? And who's Talia?" Terry asked, returning from his task. Dick didn't answer and neither did Bruce. Terry looked from one to the other and folded his arms again. He sighed loudly and said, "You two are exactly alike, you know that? You can deny it all you want, but neither of you ever bother to tell anyone anything!" 

Both Dick and Bruce turned their fiercest glares on him at the comparison. Terry's eyes widened. Under different circumstances Dick might have been tempted to drive the point home a little more, but that wasn't on the schedule for this morning. 

"Look, if you could just get me the formula, I can start to work on a countering drug to get Bane back to his pre-Lazarus state." 

"Bane?" Terry asked. "That old guy from the home?" 

Even Bruce ignored him. "Or maybe you're trying to discover the effect of the combination of Venom and Lazarus fluid, perhaps altering the Venom to kill Bane instead of just reversing the effects of the Lazarus pits. You could slip the drug to him through your 'contacts'. You certainly have reasons to want him dead." 

Dick glared back at Bruce. "There are a lot of people I wouldn't mind seeing dead. That doesn't mean I go around making it happen." 

"And just how do we know that?" Terry asked, jumping back into the conversation. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"You haven't exactly been sticking to the good guys' side as Phoenix, have you?" 

Dick knew better than to let that get to him. It shouldn't matter what some snot-nosed child thought of him or what insults he tried to throw at Dick. Nevertheless, knowing this didn't help one bit. "You don't know what you're talking about, kid. You only know a few bits and pieces. I never hurt anyone as Phoenix." 

"Are you sure of that?" Bruce asked. 

Dick whipped around to face Bruce again. "What?" 

"Your actions might have been careless or had unforseen consequences on innocent people," Bruce elaborated coolly. "Are you sure you never hurt anyone?" 

Dick stared at him, shocked into silence for a long minute. "_You're_ asking _me_ that?" When Bruce didn't answer, he held out his hands, palms up. "You want to compare bloodstains, Bruce? You want to see who comes out ahead?" 

Terry, looking for all the world like he'd rather be hiding under a chair somewhere, stepped forward again. "Not to interrupt this touching little reunion, but aren't there some bad guys we have to fight?" 

Dick turned to face the grandfather clock that covered the entranceway to the Batcave and shook his head. "Not we. Me. I'll handle him. All I need is the Venom formula and then I'll leave." 

"Why should we help you?" 

"You want to just let Bane go free?" Dick asked incredulously. "You want to wait to deal with him until he decides to come back to Gotham? Pumped up full of that stuff he could squash you like a bug." 

Terry snorted. "Right. I saw what he looked like in that home. Trust me, he's no big deal." 

"You haven't seen the real Bane. He's back to his full strength, and if putting Venom into his system doesn't kill him, he's going to be stronger than ever. He's _dangerous_ and needs to be stopped." 

"Uh huh. And how exactly did he do that? Did he discover the Fountain of Youth?" 

Dick tried not to cringe in frustration and failed miserably. Bruce had to have known Ra's was involved in this somehow even before Dick confirmed that, yet Terry was apparently clueless. Didn't Bruce tell the kid even the basic details? "He used the Lazarus Pits. The liquid in them can stop the aging process for several hundred years, even reverse it. Which is why Bane is still a danger," he snapped. 

Terry's eyes widened in understanding. "So, _that's_ why you look--" 

"Yeah, congratulations, you get another gold star. Now, are you going to give me the formula or not? I don't have time to waste; Bane's almost ready to move." 

"If he's really so dangerous, it seems to me that you could use all the help you can get. And it doesn't look like you're in much of a position to bargain," Terry pointed out with more than just a touch of smugness. 

Dammit! It was bad enough when Bruce did this to him, now the kid was doing it, too. "No. I'll handle Bane on my own." 

"So you are doing this for revenge," Bruce said quietly. 

"No, I'm not," Dick ground out. "I simply can do this on my own." 

"If that was true, you wouldn't be here," Terry said. Great! Now they were tag-teaming him! "We're offering you our help, there's no good reason for you to refuse unless you've got something to hide." 

Dick weighed the options available to him. "That's the way it's going to be, huh?" 

Bruce slowly pushed himself out of the chair and over to the grandfather clock. He clicked the minute and hour hands into place and it swung open. "Terry's right. You want our cooperation, it's all or nothing." He waited silently for Dick's answer. 

Dick scowled in defeat but said nothing. He didn't need to. 

Seeing this, and having been in the dark long enough to make him cranky, Terry displayed his tendency to shoot his mouth off before thinking. He smirked and struck a pose, one finger pointing in the general direction of the Batcave. Using his best hokey, cartoony voice, he declared, "Gentlemen, to the Batcave!" 

Dick and Bruce turned the exact same glare on him and he visibly deflated again. Their point made, Bruce and Dick turned back to the stairs leading to the Batcave. Terry muttered something supposedly under his breath, but Dick caught the distinct, "Somebody needs to see a Bat-therapist." 

* * *

Terry was doing his best not to look bored out of his mind, but he didn't think he was pulling it off very well. At first it had been interesting, watching the interaction between Phoenix and Wayne, finally getting a glimpse into the old man's past. But jeez, all they did was argue! 

Not that he hadn't learned a lot from what they let slip in their anger, but he wanted to be _doing_ something. Not just standing around listening to them snipe at each other. 

It didn't help that neither of them thought twice about using tongue-twisting names for various chemicals that went right over Terry's head while discussing the Venom formula. He knew he wasn't stupid, but he also knew when he was out of his area of expertise. 

Terry shifted his weight from one foot to the other and seriously thought about trying to hunt down a chair for himself. He glanced over at Wayne and Phoenix--no, _Grayson_. Wayne was sitting in front of the Batcomputer, his hands flying over the keys, while complex images of various chemical formulas cycled on the monitor. Grayson was a few feet off to his right, leaning against one of the nearby consoles. He looked ready to tear the place apart. 

They were still arguing, something about Ra's al Ghul, the Lazarus Pits, and... Superman? Well, now this had potential. He edged a few feet closer, leaning casually against the console on Wayne's other side. 

"I know what happened with Superman," Grayson said tensely. "Ra's told me about it. He's still not the problem. _Bane_ is the real threat now." 

"We need _all_ the information, Dick. Even the smallest details could make a difference," Wayne told him. "Unless you're protecting Ra's..." 

"If I was willing to protect Ra's none of this would have happened in the first place! I'd still be in Africa with him!" 

With all the revelations of who Phoenix was, Terry had almost forgotten about that little detail. Why had Grayson joined this Ra's al Ghul in the first place if he was here now? 

Helping Ghul would make him a bad guy, even if he did used to be one of the good guys. Stopping Bane--and after seeing a few vidclips of Bane after he'd giving himself a dose of Venom, Terry was inclined to agree that he definitely needed stopping--made him a good guy again. 

Terry put those thoughts on hold and tuned back in to what Grayson was saying. "Ra's and I parted ways, and while he was angry with me, I wasn't mad at him. But I don't owe him anything, either. I'm not protecting him, I'm stopping Bane. Ra's doesn't need my protection." 

Terry swallowed a sigh and tuned back out. More of the same; Wayne wanted to know why Grayson had done what he had done. It was obvious to Terry that Grayson wasn't giving up any answers, but Wayne still kept pressing him. 

That didn't mean he wasn't curious, though. Grayson was the wild card here, and Terry didn't like that. If he knew Grayson's reasons, he might be able to tell which way he was going to go when crunch time came. 

Hearing the name "Superman" again, Terry focused back on the conversation. 

"--with Superman?" Wayne asked. 

Grayson's fingers had the edge of the console in a death grip as he answered. "While I was with him he'd never managed to figure out exactly why the Lazarus Pits stopped working. We only knew that they had a cumulative effect, sort of like how an alcoholic builds up a tolerance to alcohol. But after the encounter with Superman, it had a sort of cleansing effect on him. It wiped the slate clean, so to speak." 

"Which means he'll be able to use them for several hundred more years." Wayne turned back to the monitors and began cycling through a new set of chemical formulas. At least they looked like a new set to Terry. Bane is." 

"You've also said that Ra's is angry with you. You don't know that he and Bane aren't working together to fool you." 

_Here we go again,_ thought Terry. 

"I _told_ you! Talia wouldn't lie--" 

"Gee, criminals must have been scared to death of you in the old days," Terry broke in. "What did you do, bicker them into submission?" _Uh oh, shouldn't have done that..._ He was finally starting to understand how Grayson could not even flinch when Wayne glared at him. After a few years of those looks, Terry might get used to them, too. 

He muttered what could have been interpreted as an apology and tried not to look like he was slinking away with his tail between his legs. After what had to have been several minutes, Wayne and Grayson finally turned back to the monitor. 

They continued to argue for awhile longer, until Wayne brought up a map of Africa. Terry focused in on the conversation again, figuring it was probably important. 

"Ra's' main headquarters are here." Grayson pointed to a spot along the western coast. "There's a small village in Angola, about forty miles south of Malange. It's not even on most maps. That's where Bane and his men are." 

"They may have moved their operation to another location to prevent you from finding them." 

"No. That's where Talia told me they were and they weren't planning to move. Everything Bane needs is right there and he doesn't know I'm after him." 

"You don't know--" 

"Yes, I do!" 

If he didn't stop them now, they'd never get to Bane in time. This time, he decided to take the serious approach. "Does it really matter?" he asked. 

They turned startled looks on him. "What do you mean?" Grayson asked in a low voice. 

"Well, if they are there, it's the best way to stop them, right? Even if it is a trap." Before either of them could interrupt, he hurried on. "But if they're not there, do we have a better plan? It looks to me that trap or no trap, this place is our best shot." 

Grayson grudgingly nodded his agreement. Wayne simply turned back to the computer. 

"With only the two of you, the odds aren't good," Wayne said. "Bane will surround himself with bodyguards." 

"They don't know the place like I do," Grayson said confidently. "The ones we can't just slip past won't be much of a threat. The goal is to get to Bane, inject him with the new formula, and take care of him. Without Bane, Ra's' men will deal with Bane's guards." 

"All right." Wayne stood up, grabbing his cane on his way to the other side of the cave, where the laboratory was housed. "I'll work on the anti-Venom formula." 

Grayson headed off in the opposite direction. "I'll draw a map of the compound, the secret walkways, and the best way to get to Bane." 

Neither of them looked back at him or even seemed to realize he was still there. Terry sighed, and wondered if Wayne would notice if he installed a few new games on the computer. 

* * *

Dick reached up to rub wearily at his eyes while the other hand tapped a staccato rhythm on the countertop. He had finished the layouts hours before and had moved on to helping with the anti-Venom, making sure there were several vials. Better to be prepared with more than needed than to run out in the middle of a fight. 

Terry had gone home hours ago to catch as much sleep as he could before they left. Bruce was gathering the necessary supplies and making the arrangements they would need for their trip. Or at least Dick thought that's what he was doing. 

"You look tired, you should get some rest." Of course, Bruce was never where Dick expected him to be. "We leave tomorrow morning." 

"I'm fine. I want to get these finished tonight." 

"If you're afraid to sleep here--" Bruce began. 

"Afraid? Afraid of what?" 

"Too many memories. If you're afraid of them, you don't have to--" 

"I'm not _afraid_." 

"If you say so," Bruce answered with indifference. 

"Fine." He motioned towards the vials on the table that were filled with a golden-colored liquid. "These can be left for a few hours, anyway." 

He passed by Bruce on his way out, trying not to make it obvious he was deliberately avoiding contact. He also tried to keep from stomping up the steps like a sulking child. He carried it off rather well, if you asked him. 

Dick also deliberately avoided the corridor that lead to his old room. Instead, he went in the opposite direction and chose one of the guest rooms to sleep in for a short while. 

His regular clothes were not his first choice for sleepwear, but the only other option was his Phoenix outfit that he always carried with him. It was only for a few hours; he could deal with it. 

As soon as his head hit the pillow and he'd found the most comfortable position, he expected to immediately fall asleep. Unfortunately, his brain was unwilling to comply with that expectation. He stared at the ceiling for an eternity, which turned out to be seventeen minutes. With a loud sigh, Dick climbed out of the bed and opened the door to peek into the hallway. As soon as he realized that this made him seem like a little boy sneaking a few more minutes past his bedtime, he straightened his posture and calmly walked out of the room. Surely Bruce would have gone to sleep by now and he could work on the anti-Venom formula in peace. But first.... 

He had spent half his childhood here, but hadn't seen the place since he'd walked out forty years ago. If he wanted to make sure the memories here held no power over him, now was the time to do so. 

He slowly made his way down the corridor, not truly conscious of where he was going. One particular stretch of the hallway reminded him of a time when he'd been about ten years old. He'd tied a light blanket around his shoulders, and like every other boy his age had done at some point, had zoomed around the house as if he thought he were Superman. 

Alfred had chased him for a good ten minutes, saying that, "dignified young sirs most certainly did not do such things!" He wondered what the reaction would have been if Alfred hadn't managed to catch him before Bruce came home. 

The thought brought a fleeting smile to his face before the loss of Alfred set in again. He quickened his pace as though he could simply outrun the memories. 

The next stop he made was the one place he'd wanted to avoid most, but he somehow wound up there, anyway. Part of him wanted to know what had been done with it, if Bruce had changed anything since he'd left. 

When he'd quit being Robin, he had only taken a few things from his old room with him. The photo album with the pictures of his parents, the stuffed lion his mother had given him when he'd become fascinated with the live versions, a picture of himself, Barbara, and Alfred on his graduation day.... 

He'd left anything that had been bought with Bruce's money. He wondered if any of it had been left in the room, or if all traces of him had been removed. But now wasn't the time to be distracted by memories; he had other concerns. 

He had turned to go when Bruce's words came back to him. ~"Too many memories. If you're afraid..."~ 

Dick squared his shoulders and opened the door, practically marching inside in his effort to remain undaunted. The first thing he noticed was that the room appeared to be the same. Exactly the same. 

Even his clothes were still in the closet. Upon closer inspection, they also appeared to be in exactly the same state he'd left them in. No moth holes, dust, or anything. That meant that someone had to have specially taken care of them to last for four decades. 

Dick trailed his hand over the various articles of clothing, noting their perfect arrangement on the hangers. He wasn't sure if he'd done that or someone else had straightened them after he'd left. 

Next his gaze settled on the bookshelf above his old desk. One finger slid along the spines of the books as he read off the titles to himself. One in particular jumped out at him and he pulled it down to look at the cover. _The Aeneid._

He'd picked it up for a school assignment and been pleasantly surprised by the content. He opened the paperback to the first few pages and remembered that, oddly enough, this had been the book he'd been rereading right before left. 

There was a bookmark about a third of the way through, which puzzled him. He'd rarely used bookmarks, just left them lying on whatever surface had been handy. And, if he recalled correctly, this particular book had been on the nightstand when he'd left. So, someone _had_ straightened up the room. 

It was unlikely the book itself held any further revelations, so he put it back. As he was doing so, an object on the surface of the desk caught his attention. It was the photo album that held his pictures of the Flying Graysons and the Haly Circus. When Ra's had helped him fake his death, Dick had had to leave everything behind in his loft, including the photo album. What was it doing _here_? 

The answer to that was obvious. His jaw clenched tightly in an effort to keep from throwing things. He would not let Bruce see how this affected him by trashing his old room. 

He forced himself to relax before opening the album. On the first page was a picture of his mother and father in their show costumes, clasping hands to balance each other atop one of the circus' elephants. 

He gently ran his fingers over the images of their faces, barely touching the page. It had been so long since he'd thought of them, far too long. He knew the pain of their loss would never leave him, but he hadn't expected it to hurt so much after all this time. 

Dick closed the book with a sharp crack, finally stirring up a tiny cloud of dust. Whoever took care of the room had been thorough, but not thorough enough. 

He put the album back and turned to leave but stopped cold in his tracks when he saw Bruce standing in the doorway. "How long have you been there?" he demanded. 

Bruce's gaze didn't waver and showed no signs that he felt any guilt for spying on him. "Shouldn't you be getting some rest?" 

"I could say the same for you." Dick looked away, his eyes scanning the room for something safe to focus on. They settled on the pictures on his nightstand, one of Bruce, and one of his parents. "I noticed someone picked up a few things. The book was put away, the clothes were straightened...." Not that it mattered. 

"Alfred wanted everything picked up for when you came home." 

Alfred... "Didn't you tell him...?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh." What else was there to say to that? The one person he'd never intentionally wanted to hurt had been anyway. 

The silence between them stretched until Dick could feel it ready to snap. Yet neither of them said anything. Several long moments later, unable to take it anymore, but unwilling to be the first to break the quiet, Dick walked over to the window. The view of the grounds was the same as he remembered it, which only added to the feeling that he'd stepped back in time. 

The illusion shattered, however, when he turned back to face Bruce again. Even though he had kept the passage of time from touching most of the Manor, he himself had not been so lucky. 

Apparently satisfied that he'd found whatever he'd been looking for, Bruce repeated, "You should try to get some sleep." He left the doorway, leaving Dick alone in the room once again. 

* * *

**End Part Two**


	4. Renascence

**Ancient History: Renascence**

It had taken a lot of convincing--and no small amount of whining if he were honest with himself--and finally a phone call from Wayne before Mary McGinnis had agreed to let Terry accompany Wayne to Africa. 

When he'd arrived the next morning, he'd had hopes that Wayne and Grayson had managed to put aside their arguments to focus on Bane. Or at least have gotten tired of it for the moment. He knew he certainly was. 

He wasn't entirely sure _why_ he'd hoped for that, as Wayne and Grayson hadn't even shown signs of slowing down. Wishful thinking, perhaps. 

The current argument was about whether or not Grayson would let Wayne install a video link into his mask like the one Terry had in his cowl. There was just enough time during the plane trip, but Grayson refused to give in. 

"I don't want you spying on me. I can take care of myself." 

"That's not the point. With the odds stacked against you, you'll need every advantage you can get." 

"And just how would you watching my every move be an advantage?" Grayson asked skeptically. 

"Sometimes in the middle of a fight, you miss little clues because you're too busy fighting. You don't notice something because your mind is elsewhere. If you were blinded for some reason, you'd be vulnerable, but it wouldn't affect the person on the other end of the vidlink." 

It was a good point, Batman had even needed Wayne's help for just that reason. Spellbinder had shown him illusions, making it impossible to distinguish a vision from reality. A valid argument, but as clear as glass. It was obvious Wayne couldn't stand the idea of letting Grayson out of his sight again, even for such a short time. 

"Like I said, I can take care of myself. I'm not letting you put one of those things in my mask." 

"It's only temporary, Dick," Wayne said evenly. "If you have some reason to hide your actions--" 

"Don't bring _that_ up again!" 

Grayson actually sounded offended, as if he couldn't believe Wayne would think that of him. Terry wanted to roll his eyes. After what Grayson had done, he was surprised Wayne trusted him as much as he did. 

Then again, Wayne seemed to have a blind spot when it came to the ex-Robin. Sure, he'd brought up the possibility that Grayson might have ulterior motives, but the only person that seemed to have bought that act was Grayson himself. 

It was obvious that Wayne trusted Grayson, maybe _too_ much. Terry had seen Grayson's old room; everything was in perfect order. Even the jacket he'd borrowed--though, at the time he hadn't know what the initials 'D.G.' stood for--had been in top condition. 

Wayne wouldn't let go of the past when it came to Grayson; he couldn't see beyond what he _wanted_ to see. He trusted him so far that he seemed to deny even the possibility that his former ward could be lying. Terry had to wonder what Grayson could have done to inspire loyalty like that in the old man. 

He, on the other hand, had no such loyalty and could see Grayson through objective eyes. He could consider that this entire situation could be a trap. Grayson could be luring them away from Gotham and into Ra's al Ghul's stronghold. 

There was no question Grayson had the patience and knowledge to execute such a plan. Anyone who could hide from Wayne for so long and build the life Phoenix had had to be smart and willing to bide their time for decades. 

Where he himself fit into this picture, he wasn't sure. Grayson could just be tying up loose ends, making sure no one came after Wayne. 

It was possible, but.... It didn't feel right to Terry. If Grayson had merely wanted revenge, he could have disposed of Batman and Wayne any number of times. He couldn't discount the idea--who knew what the Lazarus pit did to someone's mind--but it wasn't the most likely possibility. 

The bigger concern was Grayson's loyalty to Ra's al Ghul. It wasn't so much that Terry thought he would turn them over to al Ghul, but that he might do something stupid to protect the terrorist. Batman would have to count on Phoenix every step of the way once they reached the base. If Phoenix was lying about having cut all ties with Ra's al Ghul, it could get one of them hurt. 

If Grayson wanted to jeopardize his own safety, that was fine with him. But when his own life was on the line, Terry didn't want to have to worry about who Grayson was going to side with. 

Wayne's suggestion that Grayson was just using them to get to Bane and kill him may have been an exaggeration, just Wayne baiting him, but Terry couldn't let the idea go. If Grayson had been angry enough to run away from his entire life for four decades and join a psychopath, he might just be angry enough to kill the villain that had started everything. 

Grayson might not go after Wayne, but in the middle of a fight he could snap and try to kill Bane. Terry couldn't care less what happened to Bane, but he needed Phoenix focused and aware. He didn't want to have to fight off Bane's guards _and_ pull Phoenix out of a frenzy. 

He wished that he could talk to Wayne about this, use him as a sounding board. But as long as Wayne refused to acknowledge the possibility that Grayson couldn't be trusted, he'd keep his thoughts to himself. 

He'd just have to watch both their backs. 

* * *

Dick had made it more than clear that he'd wanted to go on this mission alone, that it was his fight. But part of him had wanted to leave them behind because--and he wasn't about to admit this aloud--he didn't want to see them hurt. 

The kid wasn't even anywhere near his league--though Dick could see the potential in him; Terry had the natural athletic grace required for their profession, he just hadn't had fifty years to perfect it--but he could take care of himself. Bruce couldn't. Not without some major help or serious injury. 

Bruce had blackmailed him into coming, though, so he was left without a choice. Which brought up the question of where they would set up his equipment to watch the fight. 

The computers were powerful enough to pick up the broadcast from Terry's cowl for several miles, but not powerful enough to do so from the nearest real town. The small village near Ra's' headquarters wasn't nearly big enough to have any need of a hotel or any other facility they could use, which left them in a quandary. 

Dick solved the problem by reluctantly volunteering a small house he owned on the outskirts of the village. He'd had need of it a few times during his stay with Ra's. Ra's had provided more than adequate quarters for him, of course, but there had been times he needed to get away from all the pressures his position carried. Often he would travel all the way to Malange, but there had been times when he'd only needed a little space and that had been too much hassle. 

He didn't see the need to tell Terry or Bruce this and saw the suspicious look Terry had directed at him. The kid thought he was hiding those looks pretty well, but Dick had spotted him glancing his way several times during the plane ride. Bruce had failed to train the kid in subtlety, too. 

While they worked to discretely carry the equipment Bruce would need into his building, Dick caught a few more looks from both of them. The kid he could understand, but Bruce? Either he didn't care or he was slipping in his old age. 

It was probably just his appearance. It was expected that Bruce would have grown old in their time apart. Dick had had time to prepare for that, but Bruce had been blindsided with the fact that Dick was still alive and that he appeared not to have aged more than a few years. He would have thought Bruce would adjust more quickly than he had, but he could admit it had to have been quite a shock. Bruce had just been caught off guard, and that's what was behind the high number of intense looks. 

His shoulder blades still itched every time he turned his back, though. He could _feel_ Bruce's stare on him. While he knew the kid would want to form a more detailed plan than, 'we go in, fight them, give Bane the anti-Venom, then leave,' he needed to get away from that gaze for a little while. 

The sky was just beginning to lose the painfully bright shade of afternoon blue. Evening would be setting in soon, and they'd planned to sneak into the headquarters after dark to increase the element of surprise. He had just enough time to slip away from their temporary base with the excuse of doing some reconnaissance on his own. 

Terry gave him another strange look that probably meant he was thinking Dick could be sneaking off to meet with the enemy or to set some trap for them. 

He would have preferred not to leave and risk more suspicion--whether they liked it or not, they would have to completely trust each other soon enough--but some time alone was necessary. Besides, they could use any information they could get. 

Hastily, he turned his thoughts back to the mission at hand. There was no time for that kind of thinking. If they weren't at their best, Bane would crush them. They were the last hurdle between Bane and his goal. He needed to keep that in mind at all times. 

Right now he was supposed to be gathering information, seeing how many guards Bane had recruited for the premises, and, if he could, find out what had happened to Ra's. Talia hadn't known where her father was or if he was even still alive. She'd been about to return to the compound after completing a mission for him when she'd learned of what had happened. 

Dick was of the opinion that Ra's had sensed what was coming and sent Talia away to protect her. He'd always been an arrogant man and thought that he could deal with problems on his own, just like.... 

There was no point in wondering what might have been different if Talia had been there. Maybe they could have defeated Bane together or maybe she would have disappeared as well. That didn't change what _was_. 

Talia had intended to return immediately after the news, despite the danger, but he'd talked her out of it. She had resisted at first; Ra's was her father after all. Eventually he'd convinced her that without a plan they'd be doomed to failure. She'd agreed to wait until they could accomplish that much before acting. 

He'd promised her that he would include her in any plans he had, but he'd never intended to keep that promise. He hoped she would forgive him, but if not, it was better than the alternative. He wouldn't have been able to live with himself if she'd been hurt. 

Again, Dick pulled his mind away from those distracting and dangerous thoughts. He slid a small but powerful set of binoculars from the gauntlet around his left wrist. He'd donned his costume that morning and pulled loose civilian clothes over it. Halfway to Ra's' compound, when he was sure no one would see him, he'd shed the clothes, tucking them into a knapsack for when he returned. 

He'd known a situation like this would arise, which meant he'd need to have Phoenix's costume on hand for precisely the reason the gauntlets came in handy just now. It was surprising he hadn't thought of adding them to his costume until he'd become Phoenix; though he supposed Nightwing hadn't needed to carry as many tools as Phoenix did. And the gauntlets were certainly better than a tacky belt of all things. 

He swept his gaze across Ra's' base, mentally taking note of everything he could see. There were fewer guards than he had expected, which was good, but which also bothered him a little. Bane had never been stupid; he had to know that taking over Ra's' organization wasn't this simple. 

On the other hand, Bane was a loner and confident, bordering on arrogant, in his own abilities. He wasn't the type to gather a gang just to have power over them or impress others. He had no trouble being a leader or ordering others around, but he didn't depend on them, either. 

It was likely that his unease had more to do with his frayed nerves from the past couple of days than anything the scene below presented to him. 

Still, it never hurt to be too careful. He'd chosen a well-concealed ledge along one of the mountains next to Ra's' headquarters. Ra's had never liked staying in one place for too long and they'd moved several times while Dick had worked with his organization. They'd almost always set up base somewhere on the same continent, though. 

He'd never said, but Dick suspected Ra's had originally been born somewhere in Africa, hence his willingness to endure the dry, desolate deserts and other inconveniences the place offered. Or perhaps the Lazarus pits were simply indigenous to the continent. 

The last place Ra's had chosen was near a small pair of mountains. He'd chosen the easternmost one for his base as the other was too jagged and steep for renovation. As it was, Dick had had trouble finding even the small plateau he was now perched on. 

It was still too far from the base to properly judge Bane's strength, though, and so he carefully made his way closer. He'd only gone a few yards when a small cascade of rocks slipped from beneath his foot and he tumbled down. He fell several feet before he could dig his boots in and regain his footing. 

He concentrated on breathing properly for a long minute while his heart rate returned to normal. As he watched the rocks he'd loosened tumble down the mountainside he realized he'd been in no real danger of hurting himself. The mountain was high and steep enough that he'd have had plenty of chances to push off the surface of the rocks, spread his glider wings and land safely. 

Not that that was a smart idea. If he'd done that there was a good chance he'd have attracted the attention of Bane's guards. He'd have to be more careful from now on. This time he'd been fine, but he needed to focus and not let his thoughts wander even a little. 

The rest of his excursion passed much more quickly. With his attention fixed on his current situation more than an hour had gone by before he became aware of how long he'd been gone. Done with the compound for now, he tucked the binoculars back into his gauntlet and carefully made his way down from the mountain. 

The way back wasn't far, but would take awhile on foot. He could have used the boosters installed in his costume to carry himself back within minutes, but he chose to walk instead. It was only about a mile and he still had plenty of time before dark. This would be the best chance he'd have to quell the growing sense of unease stirring in him. 

His thoughts wandered back to the scene he'd just left. Bane's guards had been well-placed, if small in number. There were numerous entrances to Ra's' compound, but Bane had strung his men out well. It would be difficult to approach the main area without attracting their attention. 

Which was why they weren't going in through any of the routes Bane knew about. Ra's had built several well-concealed entrances should the need ever arise for them. Dick was sure that they'd been built should _he_ have ever turned on the other man. He would have wanted a way to surprise Dick and quickly regain control of his organization if he managed to wrest it away. Ra's had thought he hadn't known about them, but Dick was more thorough than he had suspected. 

He couldn't really blame Ra's for not trusting him. They'd frequently disagreed and the basis of their partnership had not been the most stable of relationships. 

The northernmost of those entrances was the quickest route to the Lazarus pit. They would circle around the barren mountain in order to remain hidden as long as possible. 

It was inevitable they would encounter resistance, but they would be able to handle it. The fact that Bane had apparently chosen not to endow his guards with the Venom worked in their favor. They'd been equipped with high-powered laser rifles, but there were no tubes leading into their bodies. Guns they could handle. It was the thought of dealing with dozens of mercenaries with Venom flowing through their veins that had been troubling. 

Hopefully they would only have to deal with _one_ mercenary given super-human strength by Venom. 

That settled, his thoughts slid away from Bane and back to Bruce and the kid again. Terry would be suspicious because he'd been gone so long but wouldn't say anything unless Bruce did. 

One thing he had to hand to Bruce was that the man could inspire loyalty unlike anyone else he'd ever seen. It wasn't even simple loyalty; it went far deeper than that. After less than half a week, Dick could already tell the kid would probably be willing to die if Bruce asked him. Dick wished he knew what it was about Bruce that inspired that; maybe then he could figure how to prevent what had happened to.... 

No. This wasn't the way to settle his thoughts. Maybe it was better to just put the whole situation out of his mind entirely rather than trying to let it fuel him. _Don't even_ think _about it anymore, Grayson._

But, as he approached his building, those thoughts refused to leave. The images from that horrible night so many years ago flashed before him, painful in their razor sharp clarity. 

_Easier said than done._

* * *

After Grayson had left, a heavy silence had descended on the main room of the house. Normally, Terry would have thrown out strategies for their invasion, or tried to get Wayne to open up about his past. But he didn't think Wayne would hear him, much less answer. 

So he let the quiet stretch between them, only the muffled thuds of boxes being set down breaking the silence. When the equipment was unloaded, Terry stood off to the side, unsure what to do next. He didn't know where to start unpacking--he wasn't even sure what was in half of the containers. 

He watched Wayne for a while as the old man set about sorting out the dizzying array of wires, monitors, panels, and boards. As Terry watched him connect various jacks into outlets, he wondered if it was just his imagination or if Wayne was moving more slowly than usual. 

It was probably just the shock of seeing Grayson alive and the long plane ride that had him so slagged. Still... something felt different about this silence. Like it wasn't just about Grayson. There was something else. 

He concentrated on Wayne a little harder, trying to spot any clues he'd previously missed. Wayne didn't seem to notice his scrutiny, which was a warning sign all by itself. Usually the old man had eyes in the back of his head. 

There was a tightness to his expression that not even an encounter with Grayson could cause. He also seemed paler than usual. Not that Wayne saw much sun holed up in the Batcave, but if he got any whiter people might start mistaking him for a corpse. 

What could cause all that.... _Oh._ Terry started to panic for a moment before he dismissed the idea. Wayne might not say anything if he were having another attack, but he couldn't hide it. Not well enough to keep Terry from seeing it, anyway. 

Still, the sooner they were back in Gotham City, the better he'd feel. Bane had to be dealt with, of course, but for the first time he started to think maybe it would have been better to just let Grayson handle the situation on his own. 

Grayson. Where the hell was he, anyway? He hadn't checked his watch when Grayson left, so he wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been gone. But it had to have been at least an hour by now. What was taking him so long? 

Terry moved to one of the windows that faced the twin mountains, keeping Wayne in sight. He couldn't see any movement in the distance, but he hadn't expected to. Maybe if he had his cowl on hand he could see Phoenix or the guards he knew must be surrounding the base. 

For several minutes he stayed at the window, stealing glances at Wayne, searching for signs of a problem, while keeping an eye on the scene outside. He was so focused he lost track of time, and nearly jumped in surprise when Grayson stepped back into the room. 

Grayson looked about as distracted as Wayne, so Terry didn't think he'd noticed. His suspicions about Grayson's activities rose again when he realized how agitated the other man seemed to be. He held his tongue, though, knowing it would be a losing battle. Wayne refused to open his eyes and Terry had no proof. _He_ wasn't even sure he was right. 

So he'd just keep an eye on Grayson instead. 

"There were approximately twenty guards placed around the compound," Grayson said without preamble. He sank slowly into one of the chairs scattered around the main room. If he noticed Wayne's condition, he said nothing. "They're all carrying guns but are Venom-free." He rubbed at his eyes as though trying to massage a headache away. "We've got that much going for us, at least." 

Wayne nodded sharply, absorbing the new information. "What else?" 

"I was right. Bane doesn't seem to know about the hidden entrances." Grayson's hand stopped its motion but he left it over his eyes. "He could have guards posted on the inside, but I don't think so." 

"Why not?" 

"There were only twenty guards posted outside. I don't think he hired very many people. If he had, I'd have seen more of them. And if he'd known about those doorways, he'd have guards posted directly in front of them." 

"But you're not sure." 

Grayson sighed and finally dropped his hand. "No, I'm not sure." 

_Great,_ Terry thought. _For all we know, Bane could be setting us up. This just keeps getting better and better._

* * *

Night had finally fallen, for which Terry was thankful. The few remaining hours between Grayson's return and the current time had been filled with increasing tension. He wasn't used to having to wait. You knew where the bad guys were, you went and kicked their butts. 

You didn't sit around until it was dark and _sneak_ in. 

It hadn't helped that Wayne insisted on checking and rechecking the feed from his suit. Though, they hadn't been able to properly test it, as they hadn't wanted to risk sending another person out. If he'd been able to escape for a little while, he might have been in a better mood. 

On the other hand, getting out hadn't done much for Grayson's mood. 

As Bane's base came into view, Phoenix pointed to the mountains on the left. He banked to the west, intending to fly around it and didn't look to see if Batman followed him. Terry swallowed his irritation at the move and increased his speed just enough to be side by side with Phoenix again. 

He wondered how their boosters would hold up under this much use. Wayne and Grayson had said there wouldn't be any problems, but he was sure they hadn't been meant to take this kind of abuse. He really didn't want to end up walking back. 

Phoenix pulled ahead of him again and this time Terry let him. Grayson was the one who knew where everything was and the best way to get in. Batman watched as he pulled one glove off and slid his hand along the wall. When he'd covered about three feet of it, there was a sudden click and the sound of stone scraping against stone. 

Phoenix put the glove back on, grinned at Batman, and gestured for him to follow. "Just like I remembered it," Grayson said softly. His tone made Batman wonder just how long it had been since the other man had been back here, anyway. 

"Keep him in your sights," Wayne cautioned. Ostensibly the old man was warning him not to get lost. But the real reason for the warning was more than a little obvious. Wayne didn't want Grayson out of either of their sights. Maybe he thought the ex-Robin might disappear again once their fight was over. 

Batman said nothing, entering the nearly pitch black darkness Phoenix had stepped into. Tapping the controls in the temple of his cowl, Batman switched on the night vision lenses built in. Immediately he spotted Phoenix making his way down what appeared to be a hallway. 

They traveled down the passageway for several long minutes, neither of them saying anything. Eventually, a faint light appeared in the distance, and when it grew strong enough, Batman turned off the night vision. 

Finally an end to the hallway came into view and Phoenix held out a hand to stop him. "You remember what you're supposed to do?" 

"Yes." Grayson's instructions had been little more than, 'You see a bad guy with a gun, you take him out, and Bane's _mine_'. It wasn't that difficult to remember. 

There was a sharp turn in the hallway ahead of them. Just beyond it Batman could hear the voices of Bane's guards. Grayson had provided a diagram of the place and indicated where the guards were likely to be positioned. 

It was mostly made up of one large room, which would make being undetected that much more difficult, but the lack of available lighting helped to make up for that. Ra's al Ghul had preferred to illuminate the main room with firelight rather than overhead lights. 

The flickering shadows provided cover for the two black-and-red suited invaders. Phoenix crept to the right while Batman went left. As he worked to as quietly as possible knock the guards unconscious, Terry noted that Wayne had been far more silent than usual. It was possible that he just didn't want to distract Batman again. Or maybe he trusted Terry to do his job. 

They'd taken care of four men each when all hell broke loose. Someone shouted a warning to the others and suddenly Batman and Phoenix had several men converging on each of them at once. 

Almost as one, they took to the air, where they would have a greater advantage over their attackers. Batman dived sharply when one guard took aim at him, dodging the laser shots by less than inches. He swooped down just long enough to yank the gun from the guard's hand and hit him over the head with it. Not hard enough to permanently harm him, but strong enough that he wouldn't be a problem anymore. Batman dropped the gun to the floor and few into the air again. 

He repeated the same maneuver again and again, occasionally taking cover inside one of the many niches carved into the cavernous room. 

Together with Phoenix--who worked as quickly as he did--they managed to clear over half the guards. But they were getting tired, and they'd both taken several hits. Their attackers may not have been on Venom, but they were still good shots. Their suits protected them, but wouldn't hold out indefinitely. 

Batman flew towards the ceiling, dodging more lasers. From the higher vantage point he could see Phoenix fighting one of the guards hand to hand. That was odd; Phoenix was better than that. The attacker should have been lying on the ground, out cold by now. 

Just as he dove in their direction, more shots were directed at him. Forced to glide off to the side, he couldn't get to Phoenix before another guard came up behind him. The guard lifted his gun and brought the butt of it down on the back of Phoenix's head. 

The second his attention was focused on Phoenix, Batman was caught unaware by an especially strong volley of laser fire. It hit him across his mid-section, knocking the wind from his lungs. Terry dropped to the ground like a rock, unable to control his descent. 

The last thought he had before the ground rushed up to meet him was that the only way Phoenix could have fallen for such a basic ploy was to have done it on purpose. 

* * *

Surprisingly, Dick's head didn't hurt as much as he'd expected it to when he woke up. There was a lingering ache, of course, but he could still think clearly. He opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to alert anyone who might be watching. 

He was in the cavern that housed the Lazarus pit, though no one else seemed to be around. He sat up carefully, mindful of the rocky surface beneath him and his hands locked in place behind his back. 

When he'd made short work of the restraints, Phoenix lifted a hand to the back of his head. He winced at the contact. The guard that had come up behind him had really hit him hard. Not his favorite way to be captured, but the fastest way to Bane under the circumstances. Now, if Bane would hurry up a little, they could get this over with and he could get out of this place. 

And hopefully never come back. 

Distant footsteps and low, unintelligble voices were the first signs that he was about to get his request. The sounds grew louder until two guards appeared in the doorway, a weary-looking Batman held between them. They dropped him next to Phoenix as Bane entered behind them, murmuring something to the guards that was too low for Dick to hear. 

Keeping their captors visible out of the corner of one eye, he made sure they didn't notice him picking the locks of the cuffs around Batman's wrists. "Way to go, _Batman_," he whispered. 

"Hey, you're in here, too." 

He was _not_ going to get into an argument about who was the better superhero. He wasn't. "Yeah, but I was captured _on purpose_." 

Batman didn't even blink. "Your point being?" 

Phoenix's hands stilled for just a moment before the lock made a quiet _click_ and Batman's wrists were free. He noted that Terry had the good sense to leave them in the same position. The last thing they needed was to attract attention. 

Terry lifted one shoulder a fraction in a half-shrug. "Hey, I couldn't let you have all the fun. So, you have any ideas about getting out of this?" 

"I'm working on a plan." 

"I don't suppose you feel like filling me in." 

Phoenix quickly glanced over towards their captor again. "All right. When Bane and the guards come back to kill us, we don't let them." 

Batman was quiet for half a second. "Great plan." 

"If you have any better ideas I'd be glad to hear them," he hissed. "Don't you have anything in your utility belt we can use?" 

Batman shook his head. "Not really. They took away all the really fun toys. Wait, I think I have some..." Batman dug around in a few of the hidden pockets of his suit, coming up with a long white string. 

Phoenix stared at him in disbelief. "Dental floss? You expect me to get us out of here with _dental floss_? Who do you think I am, MacGuyver?" 

Even through the full-face mask Phoenix could see Terry's face scrunch up in confusion. "Who?" 

"Never mind." 

The conversation came to an abrupt halt as one of Bane's guards entered, carrying another body. Bane ordered the guard to drop it next to them and then to leave the room. Phoenix's eyes widened in surprise. 

Ra's' eyes were wild and unfocused, darting around the room, unable to settle on any one object. His hands, caught up in the restraints, twitched uncontrollably. Dick stared for a moment but caught himself before his jaw could drop. Bane must have immersed Ra's in the Lazarus pits recently. Too close to Ra's' last time. 

"Hey, check out Ra's al Drool." 

Phoenix resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sixty-year-olds didn't do that kind of thing. 

Neither of them noticed as Bane approached until he was within speaking distance. He looked both of them up and down, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on Terry. "So. You are Batman." He smiled coldly. "Not the Batman I knew, of course. You are much too young and small. I wonder what happened to my old enemy...?" 

Bane's smile changed to one of amusement as he contemplated the possibilities. "I have been given a second chance. A chance to be strong and to rule again. He would be as I was before: weak and helpless. It is too bad that he is not here to see me as I am now." 

Neither of them felt like enlightening him and kept silent. Phoenix watched Bane closely as he only half listened to their captor continue to rant about having Batman's successor at his mercy and how easily he'd overpowered Ra's. Dick spared an occasional glance at Terry, noting with each new affront thrown their way how he looked increasingly ready to spring into action regardless of the consequences. 

"You may go," Bane said, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand. "These pathetic creatures are no threat to me." 

Dick watched carefully, waiting for even the slightest distraction as Bane continued to taunt them, but no opportunity presented itself. 

Until a voice called out from the doorway. 

"Bane!" 

All four heads turned to see the newcomer who stood defiantly under the stone archway leading to the Lazarus Pits. 

_Oh, no,_ Phoenix thought. _He wouldn't--_ But there was no mistaking the voice. Or the sheer size of the man inside the Bat-Exosuit. 

Even Bane recognized his old adversary's voice after so many years. "You!" His voice held both delight and apprehension. "But how...?" 

Bruce moved forward several feet in Bane's direction, not close enough for either to land a hit, but near enough to intercept any dangerous moves. "Let the children go, Bane. This is between us!" 

_Children?_ Dick clenched his jaw and forced back a snarl at the term. He couldn't lose his focus now. He knew damn well that Bruce couldn't win this fight even with the enhancements of the exosuit. Not at his age and after the amount of energy he'd had to have expended getting through Bane's remaining guards. It was suicide for Bruce to put himself between them and Bane. 

Dick couldn't see any weaknesses in Bruce's--_Batman's_ stance, but he knew they had to be there. Bane, on the other hand, didn't know that, and would take the threat seriously. Batman just had to hold him off long enough for Dick to have his chance.... 

Bane smiled cruelly. "I think not. They may be children, but they are annoyances that must be dealt with. I will enjoy watching them suffer for what they have done to my men." He closed more of the distance between himself and Batman, leaving his back exposed to Terry, Dick, and Ra's. 

As Bane reached for the control to pump himself full of Venom, Dick knew he'd never have a better moment. The instant the Venom hit Bane's bloodstream, he doubled over in pain, his scream echoing off the walls of the Lazarus pit. 

Phoenix raced to Bane's side and yanked the Venom hose out of the back of Bane's head. The pale green liquid sprayed all over him, but he concentrated on pulling the syringe out of the hidden pocket just inside his gauntlet. He quickly made sure there were no air bubbles and jammed into into one of the many still-bulging veins on Bane's neck. 

Bane continued to scream for several long seconds before the injection had time to work its way into his system. His muscles soon began to shrink back to their normal size and he curled into a fetal position on the rocky surface, occasionally making a pained whimper. 

Phoenix looked back to see if Terry and Ra's were alright, but only saw Ra's staring wildly at Bane, Terry nowhere in sight. He glanced around the room until he spotted Terry leaning over the fallen figure of Bruce in the exosuit. Terry had gotten Bruce's mask off, and was carefully lifting his head. 

Dick rushed over to them, helping lift Bruce further. He studied Bruce critically, noting the sunken and glassy look to his eyes, the pale skin, the shallow, rapid breaths. 

"I don't think he has much time left," Terry whispered, as if worried Bruce would hear him. "He had to have used what little strength he had left to fight his way in here. I don't think he's gonna...." 

Dick felt his throat tighten. "Bruce--" 

Bruce managed to open his eyes enough to stare up at the two of them. "I--" he rasped. His hand started to lift towards Dick but fell back to the ground before it could get even halfway. "Dick, I--" He swallowed hard and began to try again when Dick interrupted him. 

"Now's not the time for sentimental speeches, Bruce," Dick said. "We wouldn't want things to start getting weird." He glanced over at the Lazarus pit before turning back to Bruce. "We have just enough time to--" 

Bruce immediately deduced Dick's line of the thought and managed to shout, "No!" He coughed deeply a few times, worrying Dick and Terry even more. "Abso...lutely... _not_," he forced out. 

"But you'll _die_." 

"_No_." 

Dick was about to try again when Bruce abruptly lasped into unconsciousness. He had known that Bruce wouldn't willingly go for the notion right away, but that hadn't stopped him from pressing the idea. He hadn't really allowed himself to think of what would happen if he couldn't convince Bruce. He'd assumed that he'd _find_ some way to convince Bruce, find _some_ way to keep from forcing his choice on Bruce, find some way to keep from becoming-- 

He hastily cut that thought off. Dick looked over at the Lazarus pit again. It was now or never. Now wasn't the time for indecision. He'd made his choice, he had to see it through. He slipped around to slide his hands under Bruce's arms and picked him up as best he could. Dick couldn't lift him very far, though. He may have been stronger than most men his 'age', but even at seventy-five Bruce was huge! 

"What are you doing?" 

Phoenix swallowed the groan he'd been about to make and didn't answer. He ignored Terry and pulled Bruce closer to the edge of the pit. Terry, however, wasn't willing to be ignored. "What are you _doing_?" he repeated louder, as if Dick hadn't heard him the first time. 

Phoenix managed to gain a few more feet, but it wasn't enough. He needed Terry's help. Time to push a few buttons. "Either shut up or start helping me! I don't have time to play Twenty Questions! Either you're in or you're out. When he wakes up he's not going to see much of a difference between just letting this happen and helping me." 

Terry snapped out of his daze and moved toward Phoenix and Bruce. For a second, Dick thought he might have pushed too hard. He'd only recently met Terry, didn't really know how he'd react. He might have just made things worse for himself. There was no way he could get Bruce into the Lazarus pit _and_ fend off Batman at the same time. 

However, instead of trying to stop him, Terry moved to the other side of Bruce to help lift him. With their combined strength, they had Bruce onto the platform and were lowering him into the pit within a fraction of the time it would have taken Dick by himself. 

"He's going to kill us when he gets out of there," Terry commented mildly as only a man who'd accepted his fate could. 

Dick found a genuine--albeit tiny--smile touch his face for the first time in far too long. "Yeah, he will." Images of the few times he had _really_ made Bruce mad flashed through Dick's mind. "If we're lucky." Odd, remembering those times should send a shiver of dread down his spine, but right now it didn't really seem like such a bad thing. Shock. He had to be in shock. Or he'd lost his mind along with Ra's. 

Dick's smile widened enough for Batman to actually see it, though he wasn't sure if it reassured Terry or disturbed him further. 

"Yeah, but his bark is worse than his bite." 

It was a bizarre feeling, but Dick felt an urge to actually laugh from genuine amusement. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done that, either. "_Where_ did you get that idea?" 

Phoenix peered closely down into the broiling pit to see Bruce just reaching the surface of the liquid. This shouldn't take more than a minute. "The second he comes out of that haze the Lazarus pits put him through, he's going to grab us both by the ears, haul our butts back to Gotham, and lecture us for three days straight." 

At the edge of his vision Dick could see Terry also turn to watch the spot where Bruce had disappeared. "I'm having a little trouble with that picture." 

"I guess you would. Even after the last few days, I can't see him any other way." 

"This is going to be truly weird." 

Dick nodded and was silent for a long moment. Almost time. He glanced over towards Bane and Ra's. Bane was still lying motionless on the cave's floor, however he'd stopped making any noise. Ra's was still staring wildly at Bane. 

Terry saw him glance in their direction and looked over as well. "What should we do about them?" 

"Leave 'em." 

"What? We can't just--" 

"We'll make sure all of Bane's guards are rounded up. When Ra's' people learn what happened to him, they'll take care of matters on their own." 

Terry tried again. "We can't just leave them here. We have to stop Ra's' people, too!" 

Dick shook his head. "No. Without Ra's they'll lose their focus. That's why he wanted an heir so badly, someone to keep his dream going. But without an heir, they're harmless, they'll just drift apart. Talia won't take over, she doesn't share her father's vision." 

Terry didn't look happy with the idea, but didn't argue further. "What about Ra's himself?" 

Dick glanced quickly over at Ra's before turning back to the Lazarus Pit. He still hadn't moved. "In the state he's in, he's not going to be in any condition to lead anyone." 

It was time. Dick motioned for Terry to take several large steps backward with him as the pit began to churn violently. "Watch yourself," Dick told him. "The pits affect people differently, but most of them have very violent reactions to it. He's not going to be in his right mind." 

Terry was prevented from replying by the huge wave of Lazarus chemicals that crashed up against the edge of the cliff. When it subsided, it left a still, hunched over figure in its wake. Terry started towards the figure, but Dick's iron grip on his arm prevented him from taking more than two steps. 

"You don't want to do that." 

When the figure still at the edge of the cliff began to move, they got their first good look at him. He was still wearing the remains of the Bat-Exosuit, though it was now beyond repair. A _young_ Bruce Wayne looked back at the figures of Phoenix and Batman and smirked. 

It was disconcerting, to say the least. However, even with the maniacal expression on his face, something finally clicked into place for Dick. Finally felt _right_ again. Even after the time spent getting used to Bruce's aged form, it hadn't truly registered that he was an old man. 

Bruce's smirk widened until it grew into laughter. Dick couldn't entirely repress a shiver at the insane, demonic quality that laughter held. Terry wasn't faring nearly as well. He had dropped his usual fearless mask and was on the verge of taking several steps back. Dick didn't blame him; he wasn't that far from the same state himself. 

However, he _had_ had more experience in dealing with the aftereffects of the Lazarus pit, so he took charge of the situation. "We have to snap him out of it." 

Terry looked at him with wide eyes. "_How?_" 

"A physical blow is usually best. The pain gives them something to focus on." Dick swallowed audibly. "But I've never had to restrain someone as strong as he is..." 

Bruce, still laughing like a man posessed, began to stalk towards them. "Looks like we don't have much choice," Terry said. "If only I still had my utility belt..." 

"It wouldn't have done any good," Dick told him. "The first few minutes after submersion the person is inhumanly strong. Anything you could throw at him he'd either throw it right back or break it." 

"And we're supposed to get close enough to land a hit? Oh, that shouldn't be a problem at all." 

"I'll do it. I've got a sedative that should knock him out, and I've got a better chance at being able to give it to him without getting my arm broken in the process." 

"Hey--" 

"What? You want to be the one to do it?" 

That shut him up. Dick knew he should probably soothe the kid's ego a little, he'd been there too many times himself. But now wasn't the time. As Bruce came closer and closer, Dick stood his ground. He locked eyes with Bruce, making sure that the other man didn't see him sliding a second needle out of his sleeve. 

Once Bruce was almost close enough to reach out and grab him, Dick leapt towards him, hoping that he would still be in enough of a state of shock to surprise him. Luck was with him, and Bruce was startled by the sudden movement, which allowed Dick just enough time to aim for a particularly large vein running along Bruce's bicep. 

The moment he felt the sting of the needle, Bruce let out a snarl of rage and backhanded Phoenix across the cave. Dick wasn't entirely sure what happened next, but by the time he'd stopped seeing stars and was able to sit up, Terry was slinging one of Bruce's arms around his shoulders, lifting him off the floor. 

"You okay?" Terry asked. 

"Just great," Dick wheezed. He carefully climbed to his feet, wincing a few times at his sore ribs. He didn't think anything was broken or cracked, but he was going to be in pain for the next few days. 

"You always carry a sedative with you when fighting the bad guys?" Terry asked as Dick managed to drag himself towards them. 

The kid was pretty observant, he should have known Terry would pick up on that. "Had a hunch I might need it this time. Let's get going. I'd rather not be here when Ra's' men get back." 

* * *

Despite the protests from his injuries, Dick helped carry Bruce out of the compound and back to his house. Neither of them felt like walking the entire way, so they risked the extra strain on their suits and flew back. 

The trip was uneventful; they met with no surprise attackers or ambushes. Neither Terry nor Dick said a word to each other as they quickly packed away their equipment in preparation for the ride back to Gotham City. Bruce remained unconscious for several hours, leaving it up to Dick to arrange their transportation. 

Once they were settled on the plane, Dick tried to relax, but found it impossible. His current situation hadn't been part of the plan. He should have been on a separate plane from McGinnis and Bruce, headed in the opposite direction. 

Instead he was headed for Gotham City once more and it was doubtful Bruce was going to just let him walk away from this one without an explanation. He grimaced at the thought but pushed his irritation away. He had chosen this, he'd have to live with it. 

No sooner had he started wallowing in these thoughts than Terry flopped into the seat next next to him. "It's a long plane ride," he said simply. "Plenty of time for any long stories you want to tell." 

Dick ran a hand through his hair, careful to avoid the tender spots. "I should go check on him..." He started to get out of the seat but Terry didn't move to let him pass. 

"He's not going to be waking up any time soon. Now's the perfect time to tell me your side of the story." 

Dick sank back into his seat, casting a weary glance at Terry. "I suppose you do deserve to know." He looked away from the kid, turning his gaze to the massive ocean that occupied the entire view from the plane. The angle they were flying at didn't help to calm his jumbled nerves so he turned to stare at the back of the seat in front of him. 

Not taking his eyes off the little silver bolt in the upper right-hand corner of the seat, he told Terry everything. His voice remained steady except for when he came to the part about Tim. It was only a small waver, but he was sure the kid noticed. When he finally finished the entire story, he risked a glance at Terry. 

McGinnis was staring at him, listening intently to every word he said. "Whoa. So that's why you spent all that time running away from--" 

"I wasn't _running away_--" 

Terry waved a hand to cut him off. "Whatever. That's why you did all that stuff? Faking your death, hooking up with Ra's al Ghul...." 

Dick frowned at him. "No. I only did what I had to do to stop Ra's. Bruce never managed to do more than prevent his plans and he couldn't keep doing that forever. Ra's would have eventually succeeded; someone needed to stop him before that happened. Having someone on the inside was the best way." 

"So you faked your death just to convince Ra's al Ghul that you were serious?" Terry asked. "Isn't that overkill?" 

"It wasn't just that." Dick jerked his head toward the back of the plane where Bruce was sleeping. "You think he'd have let me go if he knew what I was planning?" 

"Probably not." 

"Then you understand why I did what I did." 

Terry shook his head. "No. I don't understand how someone could just let the people that care about them think they were dead." 

That was understandable. The kid had never been through anything like he had. "You have a little brother, right?" 

"Yeah..." Terry answered slowly. "How'd you know that?" 

"I knew about you, didn't I?" 

"Point taken." 

"Well, how would you feel if your father was responsible for your brother's death? Not because he did it on purpose, but because he let your brother get into a situation that was too dangerous for him? How would you feel if it should have been _you_ in the situation and not your brother?" 

Terry's eyes flashed brightly. "I wouldn't know. My father's dead." 

That was one of the first things he'd learned about Terry McGinnis. It hadn't surprised him; in fact, he'd _expected_ Terry to have lost his father. It was even less of a surprise that he was still angry about it. 

Terry shook off the feeling quickly, though. "Besides, it doesn't matter. The only one responsible for Tim Drake's death was Bane." 

"Bruce put him there in the first place." 

"Bruce let him make his own decision." 

Dick snorted a laugh that was more bitter than amused. "Tim worshipped the ground he walked on. We all did at some point. Tim loved being Robin; no danger was too great for the Dynamic Duo. Of course he chose to go. Bruce should have stopped him." 

"Why? You're the one who's angry because he stopped _you_. Now you're mad because he _didn't_ interfere?" 

The kid was deliberately twisting his words again and Dick was tired of having this same argument. "You wanted to know my side of the story, now you do. Not that any of it matters, anyway." 

"Why's that?" 

"Because ten seconds after he wakes up, we'll both be dead." 

Terry raised his eyebrows. "You think he'll take it that badly?" 

"One time, when I was in my rebellious teen years, I did something really stupid that got me grounded for a week." 

"What was that?" 

"It's not important." He could feel the heat of a faint blush cross his cheeks. "The point is that I was grounded and not supposed to go anywhere. But there was a lead on a case I wanted to follow up on. A string of carjackings, I think. I don't really remember. 

"Anyway, I was at that stage where I was determined to prove I could handle it on my own. I thought I could get out, meet my source, and be back in bed before anyone was ever the wiser. So, I snuck out to talk to the guy who might have seen something and, of course, I got caught." 

"How did he react?" 

Dick winced at the memory. "Not well. First off, he practically dragged me back home by my cape. During the car ride there, I was positive I was going to lose my supper. I didn't, but I swear there were a couple of times that came close. 

"When we were back in the 'Cave, he was silent for so long, I started to honestly wonder if he was ever going to speak to me again. When he eventually did, he told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was now grounded for a month, absolutely no Robin activities were allowed, and that my training was going to be doubled. 

"After that I never tried anything like it again. And don't get me started on the first--and _only_--time I tried to lie to get myself out of a jam." 

"I see your point." 

Dick shifted in his seat, glancing towards the back of the plane again. "And besides that, he'll have a whole new set of problems to deal with when he does wake up." 

Terry followed his gaze for a moment as well. "What do you mean?" 

"You think he's going to pass up a chance to be Batman again?" 

The kid's head whipped around to stare at him sharply. "He doesn't want to be Batman anymore." 

"Doesn't he?" 

"He quit." 

"Because of his age." 

Terry shook his head just a little too quickly. "No. If that had been the reason, he would have kept kept building better suits until he found one that worked. Age wasn't why he quit." 

Before he could censor himself, Dick asked, "Then why?" 

The even look Terry leveled at him gave nothing away. "That's something you'll have to ask Bruce." 

There was no way to tell if the kid knew anything or was just bluffing. But the specifics didn't matter. Whatever reason he had for quitting had to be some 'failure' Bruce saw in himself. Nothing Batman could ever see would be worse than that night in Crime Alley, which meant it was something Bruce felt _he_ had failed to do. 

Dick attempted a nonchalant shrug as he stood up. Their conversation was finished and Terry could use some time alone to think over this new development. "Whatever the reason was, it won't matter. Bruce is the master of refusing to let his demons get the better of him." 

* * *

The first thing he was aware of when he woke up was that his head hurt. It hurt unlike anything he'd felt in over a decade. The second was a creeping suspicion that something was very, very different. 

Unable to remember through the pain just what it was, Bruce pushed himself out of his bed and towards the bathroom. Maybe some cold water would help. 

He pressed the switch for the overhead lights, wincing at the sudden brightness. Quickly he pressed the switch again, plunging the room back into darkness. No, lights did not agree with the pain in his head. 

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, he tried to clear his mind. There was something... something important. With one hand he reached for the faucet and splashed some water onto his face. That helped a little. 

The other hand reached blindly for a towel, found it, and brought it to his face. When he was done he let the towel drop to the counter and looked up at the mirror. 

Oh. 

That was what he'd been forgetting. 

For one, long, almost endless moment, he simply stared at his reflection, memorizing every detail, comparing it to the face he was used to. 

Hesitantly, he reached one hand towards the reflection as though if he moved too quickly it would shatter into a thousand pieces. When his fingers made contact with the cool glass, he could almost hear an audible _snap_ as time returned to its normal speed. 

Everything that had happened came back with a painful rushing sensation. He concentrated on just breathing for several seconds before he could begin to process thoughts again. 

How _dare_ he? He had had _no_ right to make this decision for him! He'd said _no_, dammit. 

The irony was not wasted on him. 

Anything he could say would be thrown back at him. The situations were uncanny in their similarities. 

There was nothing to be done about it now, what had happened, happened. He would just have to adjust. Which left him with two options. 

He could be angry about what happened and make sure that Dick understood that. And, to a lesser extent, Terry. The kid had been in the room with them and wasn't the type to sit on the sidelines. Dick couldn't have fought him off and gotten Bruce into the Lazarus pit. Which meant Terry had helped. 

However, the problem with this option was he still knew Dick well enough that he knew this would drive his former protege away again. If he went after Dick out of anger he would chase his 'son' so far away, he might never find him again. 

If there was one thing Bruce Wayne had learned well it was that second chances almost never came along. 

He made his way down to the Batcave slowly, but taking less time than usual. He could already feel his body regaining its former strength. 

He wasn't really surprised to see Dick still in the 'Cave, helping to put away various equipment they'd used. As the old saying went, Dick had made his bed and he was going to lie in it. Terry was there as well; both of them had changed into civilian clothes. 

Terry spotted him first and almost dropped the large box he was carrying. Bruce held his gaze for a long moment, letting Terry know he was aware of the kid's part in everything. He would deal with this first. Terry carefully set the box down on one of the nearby tables as Bruce approached him. 

There was an awkward silence before Terry would look at him again. "So... we're okay?" he asked quietly. 

Bruce waited awhile to give his answer, studying Terry. He looked liked he expected a fight but was ready to defend himself and his actions. Bruce was oddly pleased by that. "Yes.... This time," he added meaningfully in case Terry got any ideas. 

With a quick nod that he understood, Terry slipped quietly out of the 'Cave, leaving just the two of them in the room. Dick had given up the pretense of sorting the boxes and was watching him with a guarded stare. 

"We need to talk about what happened." 

"What I did was no different than what you did to me," Dick said, immediately defensive. 

"You're right." 

Dick blinked in surprise. "I'm what?" 

The situations hadn't been _exactly_ the same, but close enough. "You're right. Do you understand now why I did what I did?" 

Dick stared at him, his expression of shock almost comical. He hadn't been prepared for this at all. "I guess I do," he answered softly. "So where does that leave us?" 

"At an understanding, for now." He closed enough of the distance between them to be at arm's length, but no closer. "You've been gone a long time, Dick. I want you to stay in Gotham for awhile." 

The tension was back in Dick's frame immediately. "I thought that you understood that I refuse to be cowed into obeying your orders like--" 

"No. I _want_ you to stay for awhile." 

"Oh." From the look on his face, Dick appeared as though he could be knocked over by an especially strong gust of wind. "I... I don't know. I'll... I'll have to think about it." 

That was all he asked for at the moment. They would settle their other... differences later. "All right." 

Dick's expression shifted to one laced with panic now that that was over; he looked ready to bolt. He obviously needed time to digest what had just happened, so Bruce wasn't surprised when he said, "I'll be in Gotham for a few days at the least." He looked away from Bruce, off into some far corner of the 'Cave. "But if I do decide to leave, I won't go unannounced." 

That was progress at least. "I... would appreciate that." The words were awkward, but Dick seemed to understand their meaning, anyway. 

With a quick nod to him, Dick left the 'Cave as well. Bruce watched him go, continuing to stare at the doorway for a long time after he was gone. Eventually he broke out of the fugue-like state and walked over to the bank of costumes. 

He pulled open the glass display to reach in and take out the cowl of his old gray and black costume. He turned it over several times, noting all the little rips, tears, and rough edges it had accumulated over the years. 

Dick, he realized, wasn't the only one who had some thinking to do. 

* * *

**End**


End file.
